Haunting Memories
by Scarlett Burns
Summary: Even 30 years later Collinwood is not free of its ghosts, nor is Quentin Collins. The house of tragedy drags up past memories for the last remaining Collins and threatens to swallow him up for good.
1. Introduction

**Haunting Memories  
By Scarlett Burns**

Introduction

This story is set in the present time and is based on the 1960's cult classic  
"Dark Shadows". It also crosses over with the TV show "Forever Knight", but it is  
not necessary to have watched Forever Knight to understand this story as it's  
set almost entirely in the DS universe. However if you have watched FK   
it makes the story a little more fun. ;)

Disclaimer

No copyright infringement in intended, this story was  
written purely for entertainment and no money is being made off  
of it in any way, shape or form. "Dark Shadows" belongs to Dan Curtis  
Productions. "Forever Knight" belongs to Paragon Films, Inc. and its related companies.

Select Part 1 in the chapter index above to start reading the story.

Thanks and I hope you enjoy the story!  
  



	2. Part 1

Haunting Memories  
Forever Knight/Dark Shadows Crossover  
By Scarlett Burns 

Standard disclaimers apply.

This story is set in the present time.

~*~

Chapter 1

Nick had been dreading this year and this trip for 200 years, ever since there last fiasco. LaCroix had a family tradition and a rather silly one at that. Every 200 years LaCroix would take his eldest son…which of course was always Nick, on a lengthy trip to somewhere they had never been before. Luckily, at least for Nick they were running out of places to go. Even LaCroix couldn't think of a suitable destination and Nick thought maybe, just maybe he would get out of it for once. Unfortunately he realized he was wrong when he heard his phone start to ring. Picking up the phone he heard his master's voice on the other end.

"Nicholas, I finally found a place we have never been before. Looks like we won't have to cancel our little trip after all!" His master said triumphantly.

Groaning inwardly Nick wondered where this someplace was.

"LaCroix, were are we going this time?"

"A charming little village up in Maine, I believe the name is… Collinsport."

"Collinsport? I've never heard of it LaCroix…the town isn't very big is it?"

"Uh, no. Only a few hundred people."

"LaCroix! What the heck are we going to do in a tiny little town like that for a whole month!?!"

"Well Nicholas, if you will let me continue I may be able to tell you. You see there are lots of stories floating around about that town and it's founders. Seems it is a 'portal' for the supernatural you might say. They even have a few **vampire** tales." LaCroix said chuckling.

"What are you getting at."

"Were going to find out if the tales are true dear Nicholas."

So the week after there they were making their merry way to Collinsport, Maine. Nicholas' own personal hell, just what was he going to do to occupy his time? Nick had decided a while ago that finding a cure was futile and he finally had found peace with who and **what** he was (with cows blood anyway). LaCroix and he had made emends, since then however LaCroix seemed to be sticking to him like a barnacle on his hull and it was more than a little annoying.

They had taken Nick's caddy, LaCroix found it rather amusing that they didn't just fly there but as Nick pointed out there was no real reason to rush up there. Especially if the stories weren't true.

Finally Nick watched as the small faded blue sign on the right side of the road got bigger and the name took focus.

Collinsport

Population: 1, 506

As they drove into town they discovered that there seemed to be only one place to stay… The Collinsport Inn. What an original title, Nick thought glumly.

"Well LaCroix, what would you like to do first? Check into the luxurious Collinsport Inn or head down to the local pub for entertainment?" Nick said a little sarcastically.

"Were not staying at the Collinsport Inn Nicholas."

"What? Is there another place in town?"  
"No, but as I told you before there are several strange stories about this town and we are going to stay right in the center of the supposed 'Supernatural' happenings."

"And where may I ask is this?"

"Why, the great Collins mansion. Collinwood I think they call it."  
"Exactly how are we going to explain our selves to the people who live their LaCroix? Come on, let's just stay at the Inn."  
"We won't have to explain ourselves at all. You see, I did I bit of studying and it seems that Collinwood has been abandoned for quite some time. Since 1969 I believe. They all left the house, rumor has it that it's because of the supernatural happenings that have taken place there."

"Great"

"I think it will be…perfect Nicholas. Absolutely perfect."

Chapter 2

From the distance Nick looked up at the gothic looking mansion that appeared to be abandoned. Several windows were broken and boarded, shutters were falling off and the place was completely dark.

"Looks like the perfect vacation spot to me Nicholas." LaCroix said bemused. "Shall we go in?"

Why not? Thought Nick, the vacation was already shot anyway.

The path to the mansion that was deemed the name "Collinwood" was in no better shape then the house appeared to be. Vegetation and undergrowth had made the path almost impossible to even follow. The woods beyond them were almost completely in the dark shadows, which oddly enough gave Nick the creeps. To make matters worse there weren't even any of the normal noises like crickets or owls. As a matter of fact there was no sign of life at all.

The only noise was the gentle sound of rustling leaves as a slight breeze swept through them. Nick suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. Looking behind his shoulder he saw nothing and shook it off. It was just his nerves he said to himself. This estate already seemed to be reeking havoc on his imagination.

As they walked through the forest towards the estate the feeling of being watched became even stronger to Nick. They usually didn't fly unless they had to…maybe they **did** need to fly?

Looking over his shoulder again Nick caught the glimpse of a tall figure standing a little ways behind them in the trees.

"LaCroix, someone is watching us." Nick whispered to him.

"Yes, I feel it too. Perhaps this place isn't as abandoned as it appears to be." LaCroix replied calmly.

"Should we, uh…use a **quicker** way to the house?" Nick queried.

"No, this **person** can hardly cause us much harm. Really Nicholas, letting a mere mortal frighten you so easily...""LaCroix said slightly amused and slightly annoyed.

"I can't help it LaCroix! This place…I don't know, there is something here that is not quite right."

Giving an impatient sign LaCroix replied, "I know, now didn't I tell you I had found the perfect vacation spot?"

"Oh sure. This place is probably filled with ghosts no doubt. Look at the house, you can see from here that it's in a terrible condition!" Nick said sarcastically, following LaCroix down the path to the great mansion.

Laughing silently the figure watching them stepped out onto the path. They were **trespassers**, they were on **his** property and they would pay. Yes, how right that 'Nicholas' was. Soon he will discover just how right and they will both regret the day they ever came to Collinwood!

Nick let out a slight sigh of relief as they spotted the main doors of Collinwood through the brush. The house couldn't possibly be as bad as those suffocating woods after all, could it?

LaCroix calmly walked up to the large double wood doors, turned to Nick and asked with amusement… "Do you think we should knock?"

Not waiting for an answer LaCroix reached over and turned the knob. In response it squeaked to a stop, locked from the inside. Not a problem though, Nick thought. They were vampires after all.

Trying the lock more **forcefully** and still failing to break it LaCroix turned around and gave Nick a very confused and rather embarrassed look. If there was one thing LaCroix did not stand for it was having his powers put to the test and worst of all, failing.

"What's the matter LaCroix?" Nick asked.

"I seem to be unable to open the door. I believe it is locked."

"What's wrong with you? Just break it like you always do. Oh wait, don't tell me you're finally aware of the law 'breaking and entering'." Nick said exasperated. Pushing past LaCroix he tried the door himself but to his surprise, even using all his vampiric strength he couldn't turn the knob and break the lock.

"I don't understand it." Nick muttered totally dumbfounded.

"Nor do I, It seems we are not welcome here. But I am more intrigued now then ever before." LaCroix said almost as if talking to himself.

After a few more failed attempts they turned around and started their way back towards the Collinwood gates planning to go to the luxurious Collinsport Inn and get a room before dawn. Hearing a light 'click' and a low groan they both turned to find the front doors of Collinwood opening all by themselves.

Looking at each other they figured they might as well go in. They had gone this far and they might as well go all the way.

Stepping inside the mansion they found themselves standing in a large foyer. Just to their right was a staircase that lead up to the second floor of the house. Under the stairway was another door that might of lead to the rest of the first floor or the basement. Directly in front of them was a large room that appeared to be a living room or drawing room. The house was completely dark except for the bright flashes of lightning that seeped through the stained glass windows above the staircase, engulfing the house in a bright light ever so briefly. Lighting that wasn't even there when they were outside in the woods.

The darkness didn't impair either of them however since they could see just fine without any light. LaCroix wanted to explore the basement of the house to find a good place to spend the day so Nick watched with a growing fear as LaCroix disappeared through the doorway under the stairs.

Nick could feel a certain electricity in the air. There was something terribly wrong with this house. If there wasn't why would it be abandoned and left to decay? Why would someone leave a gorgeous mansion like this still filled with furniture?

Nick made his way into the 'drawing' room. The house was horribly neglected but he could tell that in it's time it must have been quite beautiful. Silently he looked over several portraits hanging on the walls and wondered what had happened to the family that once lived here. His eyes fell upon a brandy glass left on top of the liquor cabinet in one corner of the room. It still had a spec of brandy in it, the rest evaporated from time. As he began to pick the glass up a loud bang echoed through the first floor of the house causing Nick to start and drop the brandy glass that broke on the floor with a piercing crack. Approaching the open drawing room doors he found the cause. The front doors of the mansion had swung shut, seemingly all by themselves. No, not by themselves, it isn't **possible.** He couldn't understand himself. He usually had no problem staying calm. What would Shanke or Tracy think if they could see Detective Nick Knight now, afraid of an old, **empty** house? An old empty house with doors that opened and closed all by themselves…

Chapter 3

"Good grief, listen to me!" Shaking off the fear that had managed to creep into Nick's mind he was able to convince himself that it was only just the wind. The doors didn't close by themselves...they couldn't.

Silently the figure stood in a dark corner of a basement room watching LaCroix and contemplating his next move. They could not stay here, they're sure to cause trouble for me I know it. Frowning the figure thought about the consequences if they were to stay here now. They could cause **him** to come back and if they did that…no, he didn't want to think about that. I must get rid of these trespassers or they may cause my destruction.

Quietly watching with cold, dead eyes he studied LaCroix. He was very powerful and most certainly not human, that much he was sure of, neither was that younger one Nicholas. Of course he wouldn't hold that against them the figure thought with a wry smile as he slowly dissolved from view leaving LaCroix alone in the room once again.

LaCroix looked around the room. Yes, this would be perfect for them to spend the day. The room was deep inside the mansion with no windows and was completely dark.

Nick went over to the closed front doors of Collinwood. He felt so childish giving into his fears so quickly. That was going to stop right now, he told himself. Gaining control he turned around and walked back into the foyer.

"I think I'll do a little exploring." Nick said out loud. He started up the stairs listening to the wood protesting with a groan as his weight arrived on each step. After making his way up the stairs and through the first door he found himself in a long, dark hallway with rows of doors on both sides. He spotted a light switch to his right and flipped it on. Nothing happened, it was still totally dark. He wondered if this house was even getting electricity anymore. After all no one was living here so why would the Collins' family, if any were still around pay the bill? About half way down the hall he could see a closed door at the end of the hallway. Looking to his right he saw one of many doors. Deciding to take a peek inside he opened it and stepped in. It, like the rest of the house was still fully furnished with a full sized bed, desk, dresser, chair and bedside table. Walking over to the closet he opened it to reveal a wardrobe full of woman's clothes still neatly hung. Whoever left this house was in an awful hurry not even taking their clothes with them. Closing the closet doors and walking to the desk he noticed that there was an unfinished note on a piece of blue paper with a pen sitting beside it on top of the desk just waiting for it's owner to sit down and finish it.

Turning back towards the door Nick was just in time to see a flood of light spill through the doorway. Nick ran to the door and looked into the empty, fully lit hallway. Just what was going on in this house? He looked up at the light fixture in the middle of the hall where the light was coming from. There were only two lights in it and their glass was shattered, the third was missing all together so there was no way that those were the source of the light.

"Yup, haunted. I knew it." Nick whispered to himself. Glancing back into the room he was just exploring he noticed something that wasn't there before. There on the desk sat a candelabra holding three lit candles.

Walking over to it he also noticed there was now a smaller, white piece of paper sitting on the desk with a message on it. Picking it up Nick read the old fashion handwriting.

"Meet me in the West Wing."

Nick stood there pondering what the note could mean, where was the West Wing? He didn't know. Upon hearing LaCroix's voice shouting to him from downstairs Nick set down the note and went to the see what LaCroix wanted. Reaching the top of the stairs looking down onto the foyer he shouted down. "LaCroix? What do you want? LaCroix?!?" He didn't see him. "LaCroix?" he shouted again, still no answer. Maybe he was in the drawing room? Nick walked down the stairs and stared at the closed drawing room doors.

"LaCroix, come out of there. This is no time to play games!" Still there was only silence. Perhaps he only imagined hearing LaCroix's voice? Nick went to the drawing room doors and sighed. He grabbed hold of the doorknob and opened the door, gasping as they revealed what lied within.

The room had completely changed, even the furniture was different. It wasn't dusty and dark and it certainly wasn't abandoned like the rest of the house for there in the center of the room stood two men dressed in clothing from the 19th century. The Victorian era, Nick recalled. He had liked that time.

The first man was heavy set with thick glasses and short curly gray hair. He wore black gloves and was smoking a cigar. The other man was much younger than the other and was very tall with a lean frame. He had long sideburns, dark brown hair and sky blue eyes. He wore a charcoal blue frock coat and was looking right in Nick's direction. Though Nick was sure he didn't see him because he seemed to be staring straight through him, looking at something else beyond Nick's view. So, Nick decided to watch in silent awe as the unusual scene played out before him.

"Now just what do you think your doing! You can't just come barging in here and ordering people around!" the younger man said angrily.

"I can and I will. I would think that you would know that by now my boy." The older man replied in a calm but dangerous voice that demanded authority.

"Yes, yes, I know **all** to well Petofi but I was in the middle of a very important conversation with her and--"

"I know very well what you were doing and your romantic adventures can wait until you have done what you've promised." Petofi interrupted.

"Just what are you talking about?"

"I believe we had a discussion earlier in your room about a problem which had to be dealt with immediately."

"Yes, I remember"

"Than why haven't you done it! Instead of going out and disposing of Barnabas Collins like I asked your in here fooling around with Charity Trask! Ah, But why should I be surprised? I know you Quentin and all your weaknesses. Charity is quite attractive. Never the less you will have to forget about her until you have done what I asked." Petofi said.

"Petofi, If you want him dead do it yourself! Barnabas Collins is my friend." Quentin told him sternly.

"Was, my dear boy, was your friend but a friend no more. The job had better be done within two days Quentin Collins…if it's not you will pay the price."

With those last comments Petofi walked away towards the drawing room doors leaving Quentin standing in the center of the room.

"I will get you for this Petofi. I swear it." Quentin muttered to himself when Petofi was out of earshot.

Nick watched as the vision slowly dissolved leaving the cold, deserted drawing room that he had seen when he had first entered Collinwood. My god, what was that? Nick thought to himself. He couldn't just be imagining it all. It was all way too real.

Chapter 4

Slowly he backed away from the doors to the drawing room. He needed to find LaCroix. They couldn't stay here. There were way to many strange things going on that they didn't understand.

"LaCroix…LACROIX!!! Where are you? We need to get out of here **now**! LaCroix!"

Only the echo of his own shaky voice greeted him. Nick heard the sound of a door closing in the upstairs hallway. Could it be LaCroix? Yes, it would be just like him to stay up there and listen to him panic.

Walking down the upstairs hallway Nick reached the last set of rooms, opening the doors and peeking inside he still could find no sign of LaCroix. Turning around he found the door at the end of the hall was now open when before it had been closed. Could it have been LaCroix? He had to find out.

"…LaCroix?"

Nick went through the doorway and made his way through the newly discovered wing of the house. This part of the house was different than the rest he had seen. As far as Nick could tell it had probably been closed for some time.

There was no furniture or sign that someone had been living there like there was in the rest of the great mansion. Nick wondered if there was a reason this wing was closed or if the family had simply not needed it. Without even realizing it Nick had made his way to a large room with all sorts of junk thrown inside it. Was it a storage room? He looked around; there was an old globe, deer antlers and everything else you could think of strewn about the room. In the right hand corner was an old fashion tailors dummy wearing an old fashion suit with sideburns drawn on the side of its face. He walked over about to take a closer look when he began to hear the light sound of music. A waltz coming from the other side of the wall he was standing next to. Feeling the old wooden panels that made up the wall he found one that was loose and forced it out revealing the bottom of an old door. By tearing out a few more he was able to uncover the rest of it.

Taking a deep breath he opened the door to reveal a fully furnished room. It was like looking back in time; nothing had been touched since sometime in the late 19th century. I one corner there rested a small table with an old gramophone covered in cobwebs and dust. It was playing the haunting waltz that he had heard from the other adjoining room.

*

He looked at LaCroix evilly, having tied him atop a large wood table. LaCroix was quite surprised to find that he was unable to break the ropes and escape. Behind the deadly glare LaCroix was giving him the ghost was positive that there was also a little fear in those piercing eyes of his. The ghost laughed at him. Yes, this would be fun indeed. Smiling the ghost dissolved from LaCroix's view. He would come back to him later. He could sense that Nick had found the room and was quite curious.

LaCroix just couldn't figure out any of this. Why was this 'man' holding him captive? He had never met him before, that much he was certain of. He would remember a man like that not to mention his vampiric 'perfect' memory. Why couldn't he break this flimsy rope? Why was he so easily brought to that 'man's' control when the man touched him? It disgusted LaCroix; he had followed him up to the tower room like a lost puppy would follow its master. It was disgraceful! How was he going to get out of this mess?

*

Nick was looking over the roll top desk in a dark corner of the room when he started to get that all to familiar feeling of being watched once again. Nick turned around and found himself face-to-face with Quentin Collins. The exact same man he had seen in his vision downstairs in the drawing room. But there was a difference between this one and the one downstairs, this one had and air of evil and mayhem about him and most importantly…this one was dead. The sky blue eyes he had noticed downstairs were the cold, dead eyes of twilight now. It almost seemed impossible that this could be the same man he saw just a small while ago downstairs, yet it was.

"Y-Y-Your Quentin Collins aren't you?" Nick stammered breaking the silence that had fallen between them. Silently the ghost slowly nodded yes.

"Are you the one responsible for all the weird things happening to LaCroix and I?"

Again the ghost of Quentin nodded yes. Nick couldn't help but notice the small, devious half smile that briefly crossed Quentin cold, dead lips when he mentioned LaCroix's name.

"LaCroix… have you done something to him?" Nick asked starting to feel a little worried about his master. He may not have got along with him but he didn't want any serious harm to come to him either.

Quentin gave a wicked smile and nodded yes once again, unable or unwilling to speak. Quentin just stared at Nick as he frantically tried to find out the whereabouts of LaCroix, refusing to say anything or give him any kind of clue as to where he was.

"Where did you take him? Why do you want him? Please tell me!"

Still, Quentin just stared with his fierce blue eyes. Nick knew that he had to get out of there. He wasn't going to answer and there was no telling what the ghost could or would do. He made a break for the door expecting the ghost to stop him. But he didn't, Quentin just raised on eyebrow and smirked at Nick. Nick didn't know why and at the moment he didn't care. He opened the door and flew with lightning speed out of the West Wing. Even so, as he stopped on the staircase descending into the foyer he could hear Quentin's evil laughter echoing through the empty house.

Chapter 5

Nick prayed that the ghost of Quentin Collins wouldn't follow him but as he reached the bottom of the stairs he realized that he was wrong. Right in front of him Quentin Collins had materialized and stood at the bottom of the stairs. He looked at Nick, his eyes laughing cruelly at him, taunting him.

The heck with looking human, Nick thought as he sped past him with all his vampiric speed put to use, making it to the front door of Collinwood. All the candles in the foyer and entry way were lit, where none where before and the storm outside seemed to reach it's peak. A gusty breeze swept through the lower half of the house chilling him to the bone as Nick went for the door and turned the knob. But to Nick's horror, it wouldn't open…and the door wasn't even locked.

He turned his back to it to find Quentin sitting in the drawing room chair laughing at him. Where could he go? He saw a doorway to his immediate left, opposite the staircase and ran to it. Going inside, closing and locking the door behind him, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

Nick saw three doors in the hall and opened the door nearest to him. The room looked like new. 'Oh no, not again!' Nick's mind screamed as he watched what appeared to be a living Quentin Collins, in all his 19th century glory walk into view and straight to a decanter of brandy. Pouring himself a glass and sitting down on a green velvet chair he took several large gulps and sighed heavily.

"What am I going to do about him? He will never leave me alone, he will never let me live…never." Quentin said to himself in despair. "What am I going to do?"

Nick heard such pain in his voice, how could this possibly be the same man that was playing this cruel game of cat and mouse with Nick now?

There seemed to be a ripple that coursed through the air inside the room where the 'living' Quentin sat drinking sullenly. Suddenly, Quentin took all his attentions away from his brandy glass and looked up, staring directly at Nick standing in the doorway.

"One can sense the secrets untold, beckoning to be known. But it must be left for another time, hurry and leave this house while you can." Quentin said in a serious and urgent tone. "Go! Go to the front door and leave this house."

With that Quentin and the vision disappeared and as before Nick was left looking at an empty, deserted room. Deciding that he couldn't be any worse off he approached the door he had locked only moments before. Perhaps these visions were meant to help him, or perhaps they were meant to destroy him…

Finding himself back in the foyer Nick walked to the front door and turned the knob…the door still wouldn't open. Then the music started again. Faint at first but gradually increasing in volume. Nick started pounding on the doors trying to push them down, still to no avail. Even using all his supernatural strength they refused to budge. Laughter, crazy and insane started to fill the mansion and Nick turned around to confront the ghost standing before him once again.

"Leave me alone!!!" Nick screamed as the ghost continued to laugh cruelly. "Stop it! Leave me alone, please! Let me go!"

The ghost of Quentin stopped laughing and silently started to approach Nick. Before he could even move Quentin had his hands around Nick's throat squeezing with a supernatural strength that topped his own. Maybe it couldn't kill Nick but it certainly didn't feel good. He could see his vision beginning to narrow and fade as he was on the verge of blacking out.

The ghost of Quentin smiled as his cold hands gripped his neck. Nick attempted to break free but the ghost's hold was much to strong, making his attempts futile. He was about to black out when he saw the ghost look up in the direction of the front door with a worried expression. Just then came three hard knocks on the front doors and Quentin's ghost quickly disappeared leaving Nick seemingly alone again in the Collinwood foyer.

Taking several deep breaths to fill air back into his lungs he listened as 3 more steady knocks came from the front doors. With shaky legs Nick went over and tried the door, which opened without hesitation revealing a man with a long black coat and a hood, protecting him from the ravage storm. Nick couldn't see his face for the hood concealed it in the shadows.

"Ah good." The man said in a strangely familiar voice as he reached up and removed the hood revealing his face.

Nick gasped in fear as he took in the man standing before him.

"Hello." He said with a kind smile that lighted up his expressive blue eyes. "I'm Quentin Collins."

Chapter 6

Nick stared in wide-eyed astonishment at the man standing before him; he was soaking wet from the thunderstorm that continued to rage outside. Nick was in utter shock.

"I'm Quentin Collins." He repeated again, a little louder so his voice could be heard over the claps of thunder.

"No…NO! It's not possible! You were just…just…"

"I was just knocking on the door Mr…?" Quentin asked politely.

"Knight, Nick Knight." Nick blinked several times making sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He was a dead ringer, pun intended, to the ghost and visions that haunted the halls of Collinwood. But this man was alive, could it be the ghost playing another evil trick on him?

"Ah, Nick. May I call you Nick?" Quentin continued as if nothing was wrong.

"Uh, Yeah."

"Good, and you may call me Quentin. I hate it when people get so formal and Mr. Collins makes me feel old." Quentin gave him a good-humored smile and continued. "You see Nick, I was in town on business when I heard in the village that there were two out-of-towners who were exploring the Collinwood mansion. I came over as soon as I heard." Quentin lowered his voice to a serious tone as his features lost any boyish look that was there before. "This house is not safe. It is not wise for you to stay here **any** longer."

"I have arrived at that decision myself." Nick said quietly as he glanced over his shoulder, looking back into the dark and empty Collinwood foyer.

"What do you mean? Has something already happened?" Quentin asked in a peculiar tone, which implied to Nick that he probably already knew the answer.

"You could say that. Someone… is haunting my friend and I." Nick said to him, careful not to tell him exactly **who** it was that had stalked him in the halls of the mansion.

Quentin's face took on a very thoughtful expression as he cast his gaze to the floor. A crash of lightning resounded causing Nick to jump. From deep inside the mansion music started to play once again. A waltz that was soft at first and steadily increased louder as they both stood frozen in the doorway of Collinwood. Quentin's expression turned from thoughtfulness to complete recognition as he heard the waltz play.

Suddenly Nick felt himself being pulled through the front doors and out into the raging storm. Looking over he realized that Quentin had grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him out of the mansion, shutting and locking the front doors behind them.

Quentin stood staring at the doors for a moment in silence. The waltz, that was **his** waltz. It had been so very long since he had heard his favorite tune play. He had left it all behind when he went away. He shuddered, he had a bad feeling he knew exactly what was happening but he didn't want to admit it to himself. There had to be some other explanation. Looking over at Nick he realized that he was staring at him.

"You all right?" Quentin asked him.

"Yes, you just startled me that's all. It's been a rough night."

"Sorry about that, if I could have given you any warning I would have." He told him sullenly as he took a deep breath and let it our slowly. "Nick, we have to leave. You and I are not safe on the Collinwood grounds, no one is."

"Just what the hell is going on here anyway!"

Quentin looked at him for a moment as if thinking of what he could possibly say. Then he began to chuckle softly.

"Well if I knew that then perhaps the mystery and the problem would already be solved! But you see Nick, that is what I want **you** to help me with."

"What, me? How?" Nick asked skeptically. He really didn't trust this man, he could be the ghost for all he knew which at the moment, wasn't much.

"I need you to tell me **everything** you saw and everything you know…but not now. We need to leave."

"I can't! My friend LaCroix is still in the house. I think the ghost has done something to him."

"Then you have no idea where in the house he is?"

"No, but I am positive the ghost has him."

"All right, all right." Quentin said as he slipped his hood back over his head. The rain had begun pouring down again making things positively dreary, giving everything a sad sense of hopelessness. As if the evening needed any help. "We can't go back into the house again. At least not yet, we are not prepared and I don't even know the full events of this evening yet."

"But I can't just leave—"

"Listen to me, the ghost may be using your friend to lure you and possible even me into Collinwood. We would be walking straight into his trap, if you go back in there now you will be doing **exactly** what he wants. Come with me, we need to get out of here…now."

Starting to walk in the direction of his car Quentin looked back at Nick who was staring at the large mansion with despair. Quentin could see the worry and concern for his friend written on his face.

"Don't worry Nick, we'll come back for him when we know we can help him."

With that Quentin started down the path towards both their cars, soon disappearing into the storm. Nick knew that this Quentin was right, as much as he hated to admit it he couldn't help his vampire master. LaCroix was much more powerful than he. If LaCroix couldn't save himself with all his power than Nick certainly couldn't do it either, at least not without help. Perhaps this Quentin actually will help him? At this point he was Nick's only chance, like it or not. Taking one last look at the looming mansion before him he turned around and went after Quentin.

Both of them had parked their cars at the edge of the woods and Quentin told Nick to follow him to the Inn in Collinsport where they could both get rooms for the long day and night that lied ahead of them. Before jumping into his sleek silver sports car Quentin looked at Nick's Caddy, taking a double take.

"Hey, Nice Car!" he told Nick, winking. Opening the car door he sat down on the seat and put the key into the ignition. Looking up he asked Nick, "Hey… doesn't that particular model have more trunk space than any other car made?"

Nick's eyes bulged. "Yeah, how did you know that?" he asked shocked.

"Oh… I dunno. See you in town!" Quentin added quickly as he closed the car door and started up the engine.

As they drove away Nick kept checking his rear view mirror, making sure the ghost wasn't following them. He felt kind of foolish; a ghost probably couldn't even follow them to town if it wanted too…could it?

Chapter 7

As the rain continued to pour down onto his windshield Nick thought of the mysterious man he was following in his car, the man who had showed up so suddenly. Just in time to save him from the clutches of the ghost. Could this man be trusted? This Quentin looked **exactly** the same as the ghost, exactly the same as the visions he had seen. He was even the same age, mid 20s…was he a descendant of the ghost? He just didn't know, none of this made any sense at all.

Looking up at the sky Nick realized that the sun would be rising soon. Luckily it was so stormy and overcast that even if he didn't quite make it to the Inn in time he would probably be OK for the thick, dark clouds overhead would not leak any sunlight onto the tiny Maine village today. It was as if nature knew the darkness that lye within it.

Lucky for him the town was not far at all so they made it to the Collinsport Inn in no time. Nick even had a little time to spare; he didn't want to look suspicious or desperate in front of this stranger, Quentin anyway.

Quentin went over to the man sitting behind the hotel's front desk and asked for two rooms. "How long will you be staying?" he asked as Quentin took out a check and picked up a pen off the front desk.

"Oh, I'm not sure. How 'bout making it for 2 nights for now."

"Sounds good" The man gave Quentin the total and he wrote out the check and handed it over. The man's eyes bulged as he read over the signature.

"Quentin…*Collins*. That's…imp-"

"Can you give us the keys to our rooms, we're very tired." Quentin interrupted quickly, dodging from a discussion that he did not want to have.

"…Yeah…here. Rooms 29 and 30."  
"Thanks." Quentin replied. Turning around he handed Nick the key to his room.

Stopping outside the door to Nick's hotel room Quentin told him to get some rest, he would be back later to find out what had happened over at Collinwood.

Sure enough, as Nick was napping a persistent knock came from his door. Nick wasn't looking forward to talking with the man. He wasn't even sure what he should tell him.

Groaning he pulled himself off the small bed in the center of the right hand wall and went to the door. Opening it he found a smiling Quentin Collins who looked way to cheery for this early in the day.

"Geez Nick, you must sleep like me!" Quentin said to him jokingly as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He pulled a small bag of chips out of his coat and offered some to Nick.

"Ah, no thanks. I think I'll pass." Nick said as his stomach ached for something a little less solid. He had a cooler in the back of his caddy with some bottles of blood. Tonight he would have to bring them in and store them in the mini fridge that hummed in a corner of his small hotel room. It would not be long before it went bad sitting outside in the cooler of his car but the weather was cool and it would help in keeping it fresh till tonight.

Shrugging Quentin began happily munching on his chips. "Awfully dark in here, can I open the curtains or—"  
"No! I mean…I have a skin condition and I can't go out in the sun." Nick explained, hoping he sounded steadier than he felt.

Quentin stopped eating and gave Nick a very odd look, almost as if he was seeing Nick again for the very first time.

"What?" Nick asked after a minute, uncomfortable under Quentin's scrutiny. Giving a small smile Quentin quickly took his eyes off Nick and walked over to the light switch and flicked it on. "All right Nick, suppose you tell me exactly what happened at Collinwood last night.

*

The ghost of Quentin had decided what he was going to do, now that they had caused **him** to return he would have to alter his plans a little. Looking at the prisoner he held within the great walls of Collinwood he felt a surge of excitement course through his dead body. It had been so long since he had someone to 'play' with, especially a supernatural creature like this LaCroix…a vampire.

'Just because I need to use LaCroix doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with him.' the ghost reasoned as he approached him, lying still on the table in which the ghost had him securely fastened.

LaCroix opened his eyes, which were glowing with rage, resembling red-hot embers burning in the night as they fell upon the image of the man long dead. The ghost raised his hand over LaCroix.

"Don't you dare to touch me!" LaCroix snarled as his razor-sharp fangs extended from his mouth. The ghost reacted with an evil laugh as he put his hand on the enraged vampire's temple. LaCroix immediately relaxed as his fangs retracted and his eyes returned to a more human shade. Concentrating the ghost entered LaCroix's mind, staying just long enough to plant his evil seed.

Removing his hand he set his gaze toward LaCroix once again. He had quite a long day…and night ahead of him and the ghost was going to enjoy every last minute of it.

*

Quentin listened to everything Nick said as a feeling of dread crept into his body.

"…and then you knocked on the door." Nick concluded, ending his story of the night before.

"There is just one thing Nick that you haven't told me and that is who the ghost was. I think you know and it is important that you tell me." Quentin said with an expression that told Nick he meant business. Nick took a deep breath and looked at Quentin who was waiting anxiously for his answer.

"The ghost was you Quentin."

Quentin just sat there silently, unmoving and Nick waited for his reaction. After all, it probably wasn't everyday one heard that their ghost was running amok in an old, deserted mansion.

"Me? You said the ghost was me, are you sure?"

"Yes, positive."  
Shaking his head he rose from the edge of the bed and went towards the window.

"Oh if he wasn't already dead I would **kill** that man for what he's done!" Quentin shouted angrily as he hit the side of the window frame with his fist. He turned around and started to pace the room.

"I never expected this, not even from him."

Chapter 8

"Quentin, what are you talking about? Why does he look exactly like you?" Nick asked anxiously as he awaited an answer.

"I…uh" Quentin started, groping for words. "You see, I think that the ghost might be a descendant of mine, my great-great-great grandfather." Silently praying that he got the number of 'greats' right.

"Well, that would be an extraordinary coincidence, even more so by the fact that he has the exact same name you do and is the exact same age as well." Nick continued suspiciously as his detective instinct kicked in once again. He didn't believe one word Quentin was saying, the resemblance was way to close, exact to be precise. He wasn't a Vampire, Nick knew that but he was hiding something and he was going to find out what it was.

"Yes, I know. The world works in many strange and mysterious ways Nick, didn't you know?"

"Yeah, I do know. Perhaps more than you realize."

"What are you saying?" Quentin asked him as he walked over to the nightstand, sat on the edge of the bed again and started rolling a pencil sitting on top of it back and forth.

"I'm saying that you know more than your telling me Quentin. Your hiding something, don't deny it."  
Quentin stopped playing with the pencil and looked up sharply, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the lamp in the corner of the room.

"You're quicker than I thought. So, let me get this straight…you don't trust me in the least and I don't trust you. Right? Right."

"I just met you, why should I trust you? You're a total stranger that I just met last night under some very unusual circumstances. I'm not in the habit of trusting perfect strangers that I just met –"  
"I gathered that." Quentin interrupted crossing his arms and standing once again.

"- and I don't think you are either Quentin."

"Your right, I'm not." Quentin raised his 'brow, "But don't forget that I saved your…life." He said to Nick in a tone that he neither understood nor liked.

'He couldn't know' Nick thought to himself. However he did not voice his thought, instead saying, "All right, you show me your drivers license proving to me that you are Quentin Collins and I'll give you a chance."  
Quentin shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. He gave Nick a sly smile that reminded him far too much of the ghost inside Collinwood. The thought sent a shiver down Nick's spine.

"Nick, I don't have to show you anything. I don't need you now that you have told me everything that happened to you last night." Taking a step closer to Nick he continued. "You on the other hand have **no** chance of getting your friend back without my help."

"I don't? I think I am willing to take my chances and I do have my own way of doing things…it just might work."  
"Oh?" Quentin replied sarcastically. "Were you using your 'ways' when you where fleeing in terror last night?"

Nick was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable with 'Quentin'. He really had no idea who this man was and wasn't about to take any foolish chances. At Nick's silence Quentin gave a nervous laugh.

"Well, I think we have ourselves at a stalemate Nick. I tell you what, I'll show you my ID if you show me yours, agreed?"

"Agreed."

Nick reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his wallet watching Quentin do the same out of the corner of his eye.

"Here" Quentin said, handing his driver's license over to Nick, who took it and looked it over. Taking a sharp breath he read the name that appeared on the driver's license out loud.

"Quentin Collins"

Quentin smiled. "Who else? Let me see yours."

Nick handed him his license.

"Nicholas B. Knight…and what an appropriate last name."  
"What do you mean by that?" Nick asked him anxiously, cursing himself mentally for sounding so nervous.

"Well you **are** allergic to the sunlight aren't you?"  
"Oh, yes I am." Nick replied sounding relieved.

"Exactly what is the condition you suffer from?" He asked suspiciously.

Nick quickly searched his mind, what was it that Natalie used to call it?  
"Well?" Quentin asked impatiently.

Suddenly it hit him. "Hemachroama phapsia" Nick knew it wasn't a real disease but figured Quentin probably wouldn't know the difference. All those things sounded alike, at least to him.

"I see. OK Nick, what are you going to do? Are you going to try and save your friend LaCroix by yourself or are you going to trust me enough to let me help?"  
"Just why **do** you want to help me?"

"I have a few reasons. The first is I like you. For some bizarre reason you remind me of myself. Reason number two is if this is what I think it is…well, I know you won't be able to save LaCroix by yourself. And last but not least…this ghost has had control of Collinwood for far to long."

Quentin handed Nick's license back and took his own, replacing it back in his pocket.

Nick watched as Quentin approached the window once again and drew back the curtains. They had talked all day and it was almost completely dark once again.

"What are you planning on doing?" Nick asked him, his question falling on deaf ears.

Quentin stared at the moon that had just risen in the sky, his grim little hobby. Its silvery form cast a pale glow across his young handsome features, making his living form seem ghostly in itself, mirroring how he felt. He knew this time would come, it had only been a matter of time. But what was he going to do now that the time had arrived?

Chapter 9

"Quentin" Nick said, in an attempt to interrupt Quentin's thoughts. Evidentially he wasn't the only one in the room prone to 'zoning', as Schanke had said one or six times to Nick during his life as a detective in Toronto. "…Quentin!"

"Oh, sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked you what you where planning on doing."

Quentin continued to stare out the window as he answered. "I'm going to get rid of the ghost…" he turned around and stared Nick straight in the eye. "…forever."

"How?"

Quentin shook his head in frustration. "That's the problem, I used to own books that would help us, tell us how to banish the evil inside Collinwood. Unfortunately I no longer have them." Quentin said to Nick. He couldn't tell him that he knew exactly where the books where, in the West Wing at Collinwood.

"Isn't there someplace we can find those kinds of books?"

"I don't know." Quentin sighed. "They're not the kind of books one can find in the local Collinsport Library." Quentin knew the only way he was going to be able to get those books was to get into the West Wing, but he needed protection from the ghost first. He wasn't going to just go waltzing into the ghosts territory without thinking… of course it wouldn't have been the first time he had not thought before doing something but he wasn't even going to get into that.

Nick looked up at Quentin thoughtfully. "Quentin, have you ever been inside Collinwood or on the Collinsport grounds? I mean before you found me there."

Quentin cleared his throat. "Only once." He lied, he couldn't tell him the truth after all.

"Did you meet the family?"  
"No, when I came the family was gone and the house and grounds were already deserted."

Nick remembered what LaCroix had said when they first arrived. The family had left in 1969 so Quentin couldn't possible have met them. He's only in his 20's now. "When was that?"

"1995, I believe they left Collinwood in 1969 or 1970. I'm not sure exactly when."

"To bad you've never lived or visited that house. It could have been useful when we return to save my friend, LaCroix."

'If only that were true' Quentin thought to himself. "Yes, to bad."

Nick studied the man before him. He was hiding something. That much was for sure, but what?

"I think the first thing we need to do is find out exactly what happened at Collinwood and when." Quentin glanced at the clock, 9:53pm. "Well. I suggest we get some rest. You can get yourself situated; you may be in Collinsport longer than you anticipated Nick. In the morning I will go to the Collinsport records office and see what they know about all this. I'm sure they are closed by now, as you will soon find out Nick… everything closes early in this town except for the Blue Whale. It's the local pub, since you can't go out in the day I imagine you will be seeing a lot of it. See you tomorrow night." Quentin said as he headed for the door.

"All right, sounds good. See ya Quentin." Nick replied, thinking that Quentin knew an awful lot about the town considering he had only been here once. Quentin had made one of his first slips of tongue and it only served to further Nick's suspicion. As Nick's detective instinct kicked in he decided to make a call to Merlin, an old 'friend' of his with important connections. A man who had helped him 'disappear' and start a new life whenever it was time for Nick to move on. He was the best; an expert in the field and he could most definitely help. He wanted to do a little background checking on the man who called himself "Quentin Collins".

Quentin left Nick's room and headed for his. He was beat and needed some sleep. He had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a very bad day.

Nick collapsed on the bed. Merlin would have the answers he wanted by tomorrow night. He lied there for a minute in silence. His masters bond was weakening dramatically and he prayed that he was all right. He closed his eyes and tried to relax realizing for the first time ever he actually feared for his master's safety. He chuckled to himself, who would have thought after all they had been through that he would worry about his master. They were constantly at each other's throats for century after century. Yes, the world was a strange place. Pulling himself off the bed he figured that before he crashed he had better get his 'food' inside, later tonight he would most certainly be craving it.

His heart was pounding rapidly as his breathing quickened. Quentin found himself inside one of the many cells in the Collinwood basement. The door locked with him trapped inside. It was all too familiar and he knew it had happened before. 'Don't let this happen to me again!' his mind raced as he grasped the metal bars in desperation. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching and braced himself for what he knew was about to come. He looked at the man as he appeared on the opposite side of the bars, free. He was around 50 years old with white/gray hair that gathered itself into a pointy widow's peak in the center of his forehead. He wore clothes that said he was a man of the cloth but Quentin had known better. He had known the man was slime the first time he met him. Far from a man of the cloth, all he sought was money. Money and Collinwood, two things the Collins family had. Little did he know that the things he sought would give him no happiness. Collinwood never gave anyone happiness and Quentin knew that better than anyone. The man standing before him showed Quentin a smile as disgusting as he was. Oh yes, Quentin knew this man well and in all the years that had gone by he had not missed him in the least yet he could never forget him.

"Trask." Quentin said with a heat in his voice that could melt the metal bars that held him prisoner to the man standing in front of him.

Chapter 10

"There's no hope for you now Quentin and there never will be! Once I witness it with my own eyes the whole world will know what your secret is."

"Let me out of here Trask." Quentin said as he stared daggers at him through the metal bars. Trask stood in front of him and smirked, revealing a gun he had brought along. Quentin knew exactly why he brought it. Trask had been wanting to get rid of Quentin for some time now because he was the only family member left that was mentally competent and who stood to ruin his plans to take over Collinwood.

"It's to late for you now Quentin."  
Quentin could feel it start, it always started with a dull, gnawing pain in his stomach that would grow and spread to a burning fire throughout every fiber of his body.

"If I ever get out to here Trask I swear I'll…"

"You won't ever get out of hear Quentin!"  
Quentin attempted one last desperate act; he lunged toward the bars. Reaching through them he tried to grab the gun away from Trask but he saw it coming a mile away and stepped back beyond Quentin's reach laughing cruelly.

"Ahh!" Quentin yelled out in agony as the real pain hit. Tearing and ripping through his insides. He started to feel nauseous and then dizzy. He held on to one of the jail bars to steady himself as another wave of pain hit throwing him off balance. Looking up through the black that threatened to flood his vision he saw Trask laughing with his gun poised, ready to shoot if necessary. The pain was horrible but Quentin knew it well. The world seemed to tilt and spin as a last fiery pain burst forth causing him to fall on the ground.

Quentin opened his eyes and shot up out of bed with a start. Sweat poured off his brow, as his heart seemed to almost pound out of his chest. He tried to swing his legs over to the side, his throat was parched and he needed a drink of water but he was tangled in the white sheets that lay over him. He struggled with them as his hands shook, trying to hold back his panic as he tugged free and stumbled towards the bathroom.

Entering he turned on the cold water in the faucet and splashed his face several times to wake himself up. Taking several deep breaths he started to feel calmer. 'It was just a dream. Just a dream…' he thought as he looked in the mirror reflecting himself. Reflecting his image… with long mutton chop sideburns. Dressed in Victorian era clothes as he looked at himself through the cold, familiar jail cell bars.

"No, No!!!" Quentin cried out, covering his eyes with his hands. 'It can't be, It can't be!' his mind screamed. He had to be imagining it; he was still half-asleep. That was it, he felt awake now. Slowly he brought his hands down from his eyes and looked back into the bathroom mirror.

Nothing, he was back to his normal self. No metal bars, no old fashioned clothing, nothing out of the ordinary. Letting out a deep breath he leaned against the wall. It was just a dream.

Dawn was approaching and Nick had returned with his nutrition in hand, putting it in the fridge. He just hoped Quentin wouldn't find it, blood in the mini-fridge would be hard to explain.

Feeling drained he got into his pajama's, closed the curtains to the window making sure no light could peek through and crawled into bed. He closed his eyes and tried to relax and fall asleep. Unfortunately his mind had other plans as it thought of all the problems that yesterday had brought. What was he going to do about LaCroix? Nick didn't trust Quentin; he needed to devise some kind of plan on his own in case Quentin turned on him. At least he would know something about Quentin when Merlin called him back tomorrow night.

Nick lied in the middle of the hotel room bed wondering what in the world the ghost would want with LaCroix. What was it going to do to him? Nick felt as if he was a main character in a play and he hadn't studied his lines. There he was on center stage; the bright penetrating spotlight beaming down on him as it washes out all of his color. But that's how he felt, as if his lines were washed away before he ever got a chance to lay his eyes on them. There was no help, no script, no cards, no prompter. Just him and the attentive audience waiting for the immortal words that he didn't have. But the ghost, his enemy, the evil villain in this twisted play knew every line, every move and every stage direction hitting them with flawless execution. He knew his lines and he was well rehearsed.

It was time for Nick to study his script.

As Nick drifted off he listened to the quiet around him. The only sound was a faint wind and the light tapping of a small branch from a tree that stood outside his window. It beckoned against the closed window, pleading with Nick to open it…

Quentin took a large sip of black coffee. No matter what he did he just didn't feel awake. 'I wish I had a brandy' he thought to himself glumly. Morning or not, he could really use it and made a mental note to buy some today. Staring out the window he watched the ceaseless rain drizzle down onto the deserted streets of Collinsport. No one was out this early and the sun seemed as lazy as the drizzling rain as it slowly rose into the sky. It seemed to stop half way bringing only enough light to make do on this miserably dreary day. Snatching a phone book from the small desk offered in the cramped Collinsport Inn rooms he flipped through the pages and found the number of the Collinsport Records Office, he wanted to find out when they opened. Picking up the phone he dialed the number and listened to the recording that played out saying that they would open at 9:00 am. Sighing Quentin leaned back in his chair and took another sip of coffee. He was edgy and nervous and the coffee wasn't helping. He needed something to do. Setting down his coffee he turned on the TV, slowly flipping through the channels, searching for anything that would take his mind off that dream.

Nick was dead to the world as he slept like only the undead can. Perhaps if he were awake he would have caught sight of the shadow that silently entered his room and melted into the wall…

Chapter 11

Quentin found himself standing outside of the county record office. It wasn't really an office though, just a small building on main street like all the rest of the shops and restaurants. He remembered it, nothing in this god-forsaken town ever changed. It was as if Collinsport existed in a world of it's own, cutoff from everyone else. Once inside there seemed to be no escape, as the only signs of the outside world came and went with a flurry of speed. Those of course were the ship that came to port which was all Collinsport was really good for. Even the ships didn't stay long though, the captains quickly unloaded their goods, had one drink at the infamous Blue Whale and then hastily retreated into the cold unforgiving ocean that was more forgiving than Collinsport. Everyone knew that once Collinsport's long arms reached out and grabbed hold of you there would be no escaping from their iron grip. No one knew all this better than Quentin Collins, who had traveled the world over and still returned to the tiny one horse town named Collinsport.

Quentin broke free of his reverie and entered the record office. Inside sat an elderly gentleman who probably ran the office since he was a young teenager. He looked to be in his mid-sixties with white hair peppered with a few remnants of its once brown color. He looked up at Quentin as the bell above the door tinkled letting him know that one of his few visitors had entered. The man looked up at him through thick glasses and smiled.

"Hello there! What can I do for you?" The clerk greeted him warmly. Quentin deduced that he probably saw few people in a record office that held records of a town that no one cared about. Giving him a genuine smile Quentin thought the best way to do this was probably to get right down to business.

"Yes, I was wondering if you could give me some information on a family who lived in this town around the late 1960's."

"Well I'll try. You know we have records dating as far back as the 1800's." Quentin got a little uncomfortable; he didn't want records that went that far back…ever. "What family did you want to know about?"

Well, here goes nothing Quentin thought.

"The Collins Family."

The clerk made an audible intake of breath. "Son, no one 'round here ever talks of or asks about the Collins family, not since 1969."

Slightly miffed about being called 'son' Quentin's mind whirled with questions, gone since 1969? "Why? What happened to them?" he asked.

"Well, no one knows exactly what happened…they just…disappeared."  
"Disappeared?"

"Yes, without a trace, the only person I know of who came out of that house in '69 was a Dr… I forget the name, but it was a woman."  
"Was it Dr. Julia Hoffman?" Quentin asked, remembering the woman who had helped him so many years ago, at a time when he needed help the most.

"Ah Yes, that was it. She left Collinsport that same month. I've never seen her again, I don't think she ever returned to Collinsport."

"I can't blame her." Quentin mumbled causing the clerk to look up at him sharply. "Do you have any idea where she is now?"  
"Not really, although I would guess she went back to the hospital she managed, whatever it was called. I don't even know if she is still alive, she would probably be around her late 70's by now." Quentin sighed. Of course she would be old by now, he hadn't thought of that. His face must have shown his disappointment because the clerk gave him a peculiar look. "How did you know about her? You're too young to have known her 30 years ago. By the way, I don't believe I caught your name son."

He wished to god that the clerk hadn't asked him that and he also wished that he would stop calling him 'son', it bugged him to no end.

"It's Quentin. Quentin Collins."

The clerk's eyes grew wide hearing the last name Collins as he sat back in his chair.

"Impossible! There are no Collins' left!" the clerk blurted out.

"Look, I don't want to get into a long discussion about how I came to be. I am here and asking for information. Now please, can you tell me everything you know about the Collinses, Collinwood and the events that took place in the year 1969? It's my family and I think I have a right to know." Quentin said, his patience wearing thin.

"All right Mr. Collins but first I have to ask you…are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes, please tell me."  
"As I have already told you, in 1969 the entire family disappeared. It was Dr. Hoffman who had went and told the police they were missing. She was in near hysterics. Normally she was a very calm, calculating woman so it was obvious something was very wrong, that something terrible had happened and she had witnessed it. She refused to talk, some say she was to frightened to but in any case she was given a hotel room and told to wait till after the investigation before she left town. I believe there were five policemen who were ordered to search Collinwood for the missing family. After going inside Collinwood, not one of the five officers returned. After that the police were to scared to continue and dropped the case. As you probably know, we don't have the best police force."

Quentin certainly knew that, he wasn't surprised at the news the clerk gave him. It would be just like them to turn tail and run.

"Dr. Hoffman left Collinsport then. Perhaps back to where she worked before coming to Collinsport, no one knows for sure. A year later an inspector visited Collinwood determined to learn the secrets it housed. He was one of the best when he entered the house; he wasn't when he left. He was insane and ranted on and on about how he heard voices and saw shadows that came alive. That however was not the most disturbing part of his story. He also said he had seen those five policemen who went inside the house a year before, dead. Hanging from a large ceiling beam in an upstairs attic room. As they hung there he said they opened their dead eyes and talked to him with there dead lips, told him what happened to the family and to them. Of course the man was clearly mad but many of us here in Collinsport wonder just how much of his story was actually real.

In any case, the house has stood deserted ever since. Every human who has entered that house has come out insane or…not at all, with the exception of Dr. Hoffman that is."  
As the clerk finished his story Quentin realized that he had been holding his breath and slowly let it out.

"No one leaves Collinwood untouched by it." Quentin whispered, not realizing that he had said it out loud. The clerk gave him a suspicious look.

"Thank you Mr…Mr..uh?"  
"Just call me Jim, Mr. Collins."  
"Thanks so much Jim. You really helped me out, oh and by the way…you can call me Quentin."

Smiling the clerk bid him goodbye and Quentin left the records office not having looked at one record but knowing everything he needed to know. His mind was filled with questions, just what did happen to the family? Was Barnabas still alive? Was Dr. Hoffman? Were **any** of them?

Reaching the hotel Quentin stopped under the large oak tree, which made up the landscape of the Collinsport Inn, it was actually right beside Nick's hotel room window. He stood watching the sun slowly set over the horizon pulling all traces of light with it. As the full moon appeared Quentin felt a knot in his stomach, just as he always did. The familiar gnawing sensation worked it's way through his chest and his senses heightened as his thoughts drifted to a time long ago, where it had all began. A time long gone.

A grippingly loud sound startled Quentin out of his reverie, or perhaps it wasn't loud but only seemed so with his senses at their peak. It was like the sound of ripping fabric, only much louder and deeper.

Quentin looked up just in time to see the large tree branch above him break free from the tree and start to fall straight on top of him. Quentin instinctively fell to his knees and covered his head.

He had no time to run.

No time to scream.

He waited for his whole world to come crashing down on top of him.


	3. Part 2

Chapter 12 

He didn't have to wait long. He felt the pressure hit his back, a blow that forced him flat on his stomach. The pain shot through him like a tidal wave but only for an instant, then the pain was gone. Just like that and Quentin knew that this was the day he was meant to die.

He was thankful he could feel no more pain, he had felt enough of it in his life. He blinked as red dots started to engulf his vision. The dots that appeared as small burning embers at first began to grow in size covering his vision slowly like a bright red blanket over his sky blue eyes.

He blinked once more as his mind briefly wondered if he was going to heaven or hell, unfortunately he felt it would most certainly be hell after all he had done in his life.

His senses seemed dull and lifeless as he heard the sound of a woman scream, it sounded so far away, so very far, as if it were coming from a world he no longer existed in…

Then Quentin heard no more.

Nick woke up with a start, something had startled him awake bringing him out of his peaceful slumber. What was it? It sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. Did it come from his window?

Nick sat up in his bed as he rubbed his eyes, it was dark but he still felt tired from the night before. Too much was happening here and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was.

As Nick threw his legs over the side of the bed and began to sit up he heard a loud crash coming from outside, right under his window. He jumped out of bed and ran over to it, peering down he saw that the branch that had been tapping on his window as he fell asleep this morning had fallen… as had the large limb that it was attached to.

Nick's face paled visibly as he saw the form of a man under the large branch that had fallen to the ground, crushed from the heavy weight as it had descended on top of him. The man was lying on his stomach so Nick couldn't see who it was but he had a strange and terrifying feeling that he knew the man.

Before it all had a chance to sink in Nick had the disturbing feeling that he wasn't alone in his hotel room. Perhaps it was Quentin Nick thought hopefully as he turned around. Facing his hotel room door Nick gasped at the sight he saw before him.

'Death…life, did it have no meaning, no purpose? Why did you take him?' his mind screamed in agony. It felt like the knife that had once been buried into his chest as he looked at his once loving and beautiful wife.

"You were too young to die." Quentin said sadly as he cast his gaze down at the soft earth before his feet. Kneeling down he took the gun out of his pocket and fondled it in his hands; the metal felt so cold and cruel. He opened the chamber to reveal 6 bullets ready to end the most precious thing on this earth, life.

He looked down again at his son's unmarked grave. His handsome features frowned at the thought of it; he deserved so much more. He had fought with Edward and Judith endlessly about where his son should finally be laid to rest until he could simply fight no more. He had finally 'agreed' to have him buried here, in and unmarked grave in the woods on the Collinwood estate but he would never forgive Edward and Judith for what they had done to him, his son and daughter.

'Everything could have been so different it they had told me about my children' he said sighing. Quentin knew it was useless to think like that, nothing could change what had happened now. His son was dead, his wife was dead and nothing would bring them back now.

Quentin wasn't really aware that this had happened before. He was too caught up in the despair he had felt long ago to understand he was only reliving another sad and desperate part of his life.

'If thing had been different…if...if…if…'

"But it ends the day you see how it is,

There is no always forever,

Just this,

Just this.

It ends the day you understand,

There is no if,

Only and…

There is no if…just and,

There is no if…"

~There Is No If…, The Cure

The pain he felt rushed down upon him like a tidal wave. Could he do it? Could he pull the trigger and end it all? His life and all the misery that it had caused?

He heard the rustling of leaves behind him and turned in time to see Magda emerge from the thick forest.

"Quentin…whadda ya doin' here?" she said to him in her all to familiar gypsy accent. As usual she was dressed in her long gypsy skirt, white blouse and a vest that was the color of the forest surrounding them. He couldn't understand how she could wear the thick fabric in the summer when it was so hot outside.

"Please Magda, just leave me alone." Quentin said pleadingly as he hid the small revolver behind his back. He was only aware at that moment that he had been crying, his eyes must have been frightfully red and puffy. Confirming Quentin's suspicions Magda replied, "You look like somethin' the cat dragged in Quentin!"

"I'm in no mood for your boring sarcasm and humor today Magda, please…"

"Ha! Ya die and ya say you ain't in the mood for humor! Perhaps ya really did change over all them years Quentin."

"What? Die? What are you talking about Magda?"

"Quentin, Quentin, Quentin. Remember how ya got here, remember the branch that fell on ya'?

A flood of images entered his mind then as they brought back the memories. This had all happened before, he didn't want to relive it again. Breaking free from the binds of his past he looked at Magda with eyes of understanding and not confusion.

Yes, He remembered what had happened now. He was standing under a tree when one of the large limbs broke and landed on top of him.

"Oh…yes." He whispered.

"You remember now, eh?"  
"Where am I? What is this place?"

"It's your life of course, your past and your future. You are always reliving it, I have come to help ya find your way."

Nick stood frozen in utter shock, as a face seemed to be coming out of the wall, pressing as if trying to free itself.

It was the face of a man.

It was the face of Quentin Collins.

Quentin's hand appeared and reached towards Nick, trying to grasp him. Stumbling backward Nick looked for an escape. The figure inside the wall was too close to the door; he would try the window. Turning around he grasped the window lock, unlocked it and pushed up in an attempt to slide it open but the window wouldn't budge. It was stuck just as the door to Collinwood had been stuck the night before.

He had to try the door; he had to get out of this room. He wasn't just going to stand here and let the ghost have him. Nick literally tried to fly out of the room but just as Nick opened the door and started through the door frame he felt an ice cold hand grab him from behind and pull him back into the room with startling strength.

Nick watched in horror as he saw the rest of the ghost step out of the wall, slowly melting into the terrifying, ghostly figure before him.

The ghost smiled cruelly and grabbed Nick's right hand and squeezed it tightly, but to Nick's surprise he quickly let go and then vanished completely. Shuddering in fear Nick turned in a circle searching the room for any sign of the evil ghost.

Nothing.

He was completely alone in the room once again. The phone began to ring and Nick walked over to it and started to answer, still in a daze. As he started to pick up the receiver he looked down at his hand and saw a strange mark on his palm. It was the silhouette of a 3-leaf clover…

Chapter 13

As the phone continued to ring Nick's eyes locked onto the unusual mark that had appeared on his hand. Where the heck did it come from? Nick realized the ghost must have left it when he quickly grabbed Nick's hand before he disappeared. Picking up the phone he answered in a shaky and unsteady voice.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Nick? This is Merlin, you said to call when I had information on a man; Quentin Collins."

"Oh yeah, hey Merlin. Whatcha' got for me?" Nick asked his old friend, hoping he sounded a little steadier than when he first answered.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. The guy doesn't exist."  
"What!?" Nick exclaimed. "What about the driver's license he showed me?"

" Here's the deal. On the surface everything checks out; license, credit cards, birth certificate etc. However, the birth certificate if definitely a fake. If you check out the name of the parents and follow up on them you discover **they** don't exist. His whole family is made up. This man must be pretty smart though, unless checked by an expert no one would know that he had faked everything."

"You're the expert Merlin, what else did you find out about him, anything?"  
"Yeah, he's a writer – novelist. You may have read some of his books, he uses the alias of "Grant Douglas" for that."  
Nick chuckled. "I've read a couple of his books, he's pretty good. I can't believe I have been with the novelist this whole time and didn't even know it. They're all horror and mystery books aren't they?"  
"That's right. He actually seems to be quite well known. Anyway, I did find out something else of interest. Of course the first thing I checked up on was the name 'Quentin Collins'. Well, the present one may be a fake but there was another before him. Nick, if I didn't know better I would think he was the same person. He's not one of us is he?" Merlin asked him cautiously. Nick of course knew he meant a 'Vampire' when he said 'one of us'.

"No, he's not a Vampire. I'm sure of that much but I am convinced he is hiding something. When did the other Quentin live and when?"

"Quentin Collins was born in 1870 in Collinsport, Maine. He lived up at the Collinwood Mansion while growing up." Nick took in a sharp breath, if this was indeed the same man Quentin had lied to him already. He was very familiar with Collinwood.

"Later he was sent away to Boston for school then College where he studied for 4 years, his grades where quite good it seemed. I still want to check in on some of that, I want to see exactly what he studied. Anyway, he returned to Collinwood after College. I don't know why exactly but he was never given a position in the family business, which is odd since his living brother and sister both had a large part in it and he was so successful in college. It may have been because he was so young when he disappeared. He was only 27. In 1897, towards the end of the year he was visiting Paris and it is assumed that he died there not long after he arrived. In any case he was never heard from again. I have sent you some pictures of the original Quentin Collins and well as some other basic information I uncovered. I think you will be quite shocked at the resemblance, you should receive them sometime tomorrow morning at the address you gave me. That's really all I can tell you, there is very little on Quentin Collins."  
"Thanks Merlin, try to dig a little deeper if at all possible. I want to know everything about him, especially if he is around 130 years old. It means he is not human and he could be dangerous. If you need to get a hold of me again I should still be here at this hotel."  
"Will do Nick."  
"Thanks, keep in touch." Nick said to him before hanging up the phone. He wanted to see those pictures. If he wasn't a vampire what was he? Why was there a ghost that looked just like him haunting Collinwood…and him? Nick sighed warily.

So many questions went through Nick's mind as he opened the mini fridge humming away in the corner of the hotel room and downed his dinner from one of the many frosted green bottles resting on the shelf inside.

*

LaCroix was disoriented and dizzy. He didn't know what was happening to him, he had never felt this way in his life, which was quite a feat. He thought he had felt everything there was to feel. It was as if he were floating in a thick, damp mist. Like he had no weight, he couldn't tell what was up and what was down. He saw nothing but mist, surrounding and engulfing him.

What had the ghost done to him? The last thing he remembered was the dead man, that evil ghost touching him on the head…then nothing. He had blacked out only to awaken here, in this strange world that seemed to be made of nothing but mist.

There was movement to his side, catching his eye. Looking over he took a deep breath and held it in. A shadow silently moved through the dense fog, gliding towards him as if this shadow figure was nothing but air itself. Perhaps that's what it was. He couldn't tell who the figure was or even whether it was a man or a woman.

As it moved closer LaCroix noticed that the figure wasn't anyone one in particular for it had no features.

It had no face.

It was merely a form, a human form perhaps but nothing more. It held up its hand, and beckoned him to follow. Realizing that there really was no other choice LaCroix cautiously began to follow it, despite his better judgment. All of his instincts were telling him not to go yet he could feel it's strange and seductive pull. So he continued to follow the misty form into the dark abyss that was the world LaCroix found himself in now.

*

"Find my way?" Quentin asked as he eyed Magda with fright. He hadn't seen her for so many years, it seemed impossible to see her standing before him now as young as she was when he left Collinsport in 1897.

Magda Rakosi, he thought with bitterness, the cause of all the problems that had arrived at Collinwood in 1897. No, Quentin knew that wasn't true. It was he who had brought the trouble; he had done so his entire life and he couldn't blame Magda for that.

"Yeah, it ain't your time to die but you crossed the threshold because your injuries where so extensive. It'll take time for yer portrait to fix it."

"So, your saying right now I am dead?"  
"Yeah, but you won't be for long. I must warn you Quentin."  
"Warn me about what?"

"Death will not let ya go so easily. He can be greedy and unfair, your body is dead right now and he has been waiting over 100 years for that to happen. You were supposed to die in 1897 before yer friend Barnabas interfered. He is not happy about it. Soon your cold dead body's heart will begin to beat again as the portrait corrects all your injuries. However you must escape this realm before your spirit can enter the body once again. Your body will remain in a coma until you do so."  
"How do I do that?" Quentin asked her. He didn't like the sound of this at all.

"Do nothin', just don't get lost in your past. If you do so you could be lost forever. Until your body regenerates itself you will be left in this realm and to your past. If you let yourself be caught up in it you will belong to it forever. Don't give into it, if you remember this meeting and how you died this will not happen and you will enter your body when it is ready for you."

"That seems easy enough."

"No! It ain't gonna be easy, you think this now but you will not when you feel the pull of your past. Your feelings where in turmoil and were the most powerful in 1897 so that is most likely where you will go again. Your past can be very dangerous. Be careful Quentin, I know you and how foolish you can be at times. I also know you are cunning and smart, use your brains and willpower and you will be fine."  
"I'll try my best Magda."

"Yeah, best of luck to you Quentin."

With that Magda gave him one last appraising and doubtful look, then was gone. Quentin looked around, Magda was gone and so was the forest that surrounded them as they talked. Quentin was left alone once again. The dark of night surrounded him as he wondered what was to come. He shivered despite himself. He wondered what part of the past he would be forced to live again. His past had been so painful to even think about. How was he going to live through it all again?

Chapter 14

Following the strange misty figure LaCroix found them stopping in front of a large iron door. Slowly the faceless figure turned and motioned for him to open it. LaCroix felt it's strange pull once again along with his own personal curiosity so he cautiously moved towards it and opened the door. Beyond the doorway he saw a large room that looked familiar. Yes, it was a room inside the Collinwood Mansion.

Turning around to look at the figure once again he discovered it was no longer alone. There was another taller and broader figure and LaCroix was pretty sure it was a man, yet like the other figure it had no face so he could not tell who ...or what it was.

The second figure stepped towards him and without warning pushed LaCroix through the doorway. He heard an unearthly scream as he fell to a carpeted floor in a heap, feeling his body's weight descend upon him once more. Opening his eyes he looked around and realized that he was no longer in a room that belonged to the 21st century.

*

Nick was still looking at the mark that was on his hand when he heard someone knocking on the door. He had tried to wash it off, scrubbing vigorously but to know avail. Opening his hotel room door he immediately recognized the man before him as the man who ran the front desk of the inn.

"Mr. Knight?" He asked in a nervous voice.  
"Yes?" Nick asked, he could tell the man was on edge and had a feeling that he wasn't baring good news. But what could the problem be?

"It's about the man you were with the night you checked in… Mr. Collins. I'm afraid there's been an accident…" he paused as he caught Nick's startled expression, his voice trailing off.

Nick was not just startled he was shocked. After what Merlin had just told him Quentin Collins didn't seem like the type of being to just have an accident.

"What happened?"

"He was standing out front I gather when a large branch from the tree outside your window snapped off. I'm… I'm afraid he had no time to move and the branch landed on top of him."  
"Will he be all right?" Nick may have suspected Quentin of being less than human, he may not have trusted him but he never wanted anything to happen to him.

"He's hurt pretty bad. I called 911 and the ambulance just arrived… but I don't think he was breathing Mr. Knight."

Nick took in a sharp breath; this was something he never expected. If Quentin were immortal like Nick suspected then wouldn't he be able to heal himself? Or had his body simply not had a chance?

The sudden memory of himself in the Toronto hospital after being shot in the head came to mind. He and his partner Tracy were out on another one of their cases when he suddenly felt the searing pain, as if a stick of dynamite had exploded in his brain, then nothing…total blackness. It had taken him sometime to recover; he even had amnesia for a while. Perhaps, if Quentin Collins were seriously injured like he once was it would take time for him to heal as well.

He needed to find out where they took Quentin Collins.

*

Quentin reached the edge of the woods, now able to see the front doors of Collinwood. His memory of Magda seemed to be disappearing slowly as if it had only been a dream and he was finally waking up.

No! He told himself firmly. It had not been a dream; he had to remember that he was here in this time only temporarily. As he reached the door Magda's warning echoed through his mind…

"Do nothin', just don't get lost in your past. If you do so you could be lost forever." He took a deep breath as a cold shiver crept up his spine.

He couldn't get lost.

Opening the door slowly Quentin stepped inside the threshold of Collinwood and was immediately overcome with a tidal wave of emotions. He staggered back a little, overwhelmed by his past feelings.

Pain.

Rage.

Sorrow.

Resentment.

Love.

Greed.

Pity.

Confusion.

Anger.

Oh yes… and humility. He felt them all but it was the pain and sorrow that he felt the most. He could feel his mind spiraling downward into a familiar depression as his important meeting with Magda drifted out of his mind much like a bottle carrying a message drifts out to sea.

'I need a brandy' Quentin thought to himself as he started into the drawing room briefly glancing at the large grandfather clock that stood in the foyer ever since he was a small child. Reaching out to the doorknob of the drawing room, he was about to turn it when he stopped.

He didn't just see what he thought he saw did he?

Backing up he looked at the old clock again, particularly at the pendulum.

Nothing was wrong or out of the ordinary.

No, he couldn't have seen what he thought he saw.

It was ridiculous.

Wasn't it?

He was startled out of his reverie by a noise coming from inside the drawing room and looked at the closed doors. Someone was inside the room, not surprising but disappointing non-the-less. He had wanted to be alone, well not exactly alone. A nice full snifter of brandy would be a perfect companion for him on the perfectly depressing evening.

He gave one last suspicious glance at the old grandfather clock and froze.

There it was again.

He blinked once.

Twice.

It was gone in the blink of an eye. Quentin was sure he saw it though.

A long Scimitar.

Swinging back and forth, back and forth…

In place of the grandfather clock's pendulum.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. 'It must be a daydream from when Aristede held me captive in the mill…' Quentin thought warily looking at the clock again. '…Or a day nightmare. Now I really need a brandy.'

Approaching the drawing room doors he was interrupted once again by a familiar, high-pitched woman's voice with a heavy cockney accent.

"Well now, why such a long face, luve?"

Quentin turned around to see the young woman that was standing behind him. She was very small; petite was the right word for it, she barley made 5 feet in height, which was a stark contrast to Quentin who was well over 6 feet tall. He towered over her and the couple times they kissed he had found it very awkward. She had long platinum blonde hair that she wore up on top of her head in a disheveled heap and her face was heavily painted for the year 1897. She wore a long green dress and a bright orange shall over her shoulders. They clashed wickedly with each other and Quentin remembered his older sister Judith reprimanding her earlier for it. The woman before him was Charity Trask or rather it used to be Charity… that was before Count Petofi possessed her mind with the spirit of Pansy Faye. A showgirl from Atlantic City his late brother Carl was going to marry, however once he brought her to Collinwood she lasted only one night before she 'disappeared'. His Cousin Barnabas Collins however had told him the truth later, the mad and deranged Collins' servant, Dirk Wilkins had strangled her to death.

"I was just going into the drawing room to have a glass of brandy." Quentin told her, dodging her question.

"Oh, would you like a spot of company then? A good glass of brandy would perk me spirits up."

Quentin groaned inwardly but gave her a small smile. He had wanted to be alone but knew that if he tried to get rid of her now she would just keep pestering him until he relented.

"Sure."

"A bit of all right you are! I can't think of no one else I rather be sittin' and sippin' brandy with luve."

The grandfather clock hit the stroke of 9 causing Quentin to jump. The night was still young and it left plenty of time for Quentin to get wondrously drunk.

"What's the matter luve?"

"Nothing." He said as he turned and opened the drawing room doors. Stepping inside they were surprised to find a man that neither had seen before. Quentin had heard a sound in the drawing room earlier but being so edgy he had completely forgotten about it. Sighing, he looked at the Charity and then the man. He definitely wasn't going to get any solitude tonight.

The man was around or just under 6 feet in height and had shortly cropped blonde hair. He was also wearing the most bizarre clothes.

'Familiar clothes.' Quentin's mind whispered, confusing him even more.

The man looked at Quentin with genuine fear reflected in his eyes and stood motionless.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. My name is Quentin Collins and this…" he said gesturing towards Charity "…is Charity Trask although she prefers that you call her Pansy."

"That's right luve, I ain't gunna be called that stupid name."

"And you are?" Quentin prompted the man who still remained silent. He looked as if he had seen a ghost, why was he looking at him so strangely?

"I…my name is Lucien."

Chapter 15

"My name is Lucien." LaCroix said finally, he wasn't sure why he said his rarely used first name but for some reason his instincts told him not to use 'LaCroix' just yet.

"Well, I was just about to have a brandy with Pansy here, would you like to join us?" Quentin asked.

"No, thank you." LaCroix stared at the tall, lean man who stood before him, happily pouring a couple glasses of brandy for himself and Pansy. He took the glass with the most and handed Pansy the other.

'Charming' LaCroix thought wryly.

This man was the ghost but yet… he wasn't. This one looked alive and didn't **seem** evil like the ghost had been. His eyes reflected pain rather than hate. Quentin wore a long charcoal blue frock coat and pants with long sideburns adorning the side of his handsome and brooding features.

He looked exactly like the ghost.

Looking around the room once again he decided that somehow he must have traveled back in time…to the Victorian era? It was obvious that Quentin had died a young man, was it possible that he arrived before he passed on? In any case, he wasn't going to trust this Quentin Collins just yet.

"So, are you hear to see my brother?" Quentin asked him nonchalantly, seemingly more interested in his brandy than LaCroix's answer. "Or is it my sister you are here to see, I am afraid she's taken her leave from Collinwood for awhile. Can't say that I blame her, I don't know when she will return." Quentin knew that she was really at the sanitarium, being treated but wasn't about to tell this stranger that.

LaCroix decided it would be much wiser to pretend acquaintance with his 'sister' rather than brother. At least he wouldn't have to use his powers or think of a great lie. "Oh? Well I was here to see her. I'm an old friend."

"Oh?" Quentin said suspiciously, looking up from his brandy. It sounded more like a challenge than a question.

LaCroix started to answer when the drawing room doors swung open revealing an older man in his early 50's perhaps, wearing what looked like a reverend's attire. LaCroix however got the feeling that he was far from a holy man.

"Ah, I see the honorable Reverend Trask has decided to join us in a drink!" Quentin announced sarcastically.

"You know very well that I don't approve of intoxicating beverages. If I had my way-"

"-they would be band from Collinwood. Yes, yes I know." Quentin said, finishing his sentence. Quentin gave Trask a wicked smirk as he approached him. "Luckily Trask you **don't** have your way, much to your sorrow I presume."

"I don't know what you're talking about Quentin."

"I'm sure!" Quentin replied with a laugh. "Lucien, may I present to you Mr. Gregory Trask. My sister Judith's loving and devoted husband… unfortunately."

"Reverend, please." Trask said trying to make a point… and a good impression on the stranger.

"Oh come off it Trask." Quentin said harshly taking another swig of his brandy. He absolutely despised him and he was sure Trask felt the same about him. "Trask, this is Lucien. He came here to visit your wife. I told him that she was out of town."

LaCroix watched the scene play out between the two with amusement. One could just feel the hatred radiating between the two and he suspected that there was more here that meets the eye.

"An honor to meet you Mr. ?"

LaCroix sighed. He didn't want to give his full name but saw no way around it. "LaCroix. Lucien LaCroix."

"Ah Mr. LaCroix, you said you were –" he began but was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass startling everyone in the room. Trask turned around to find that Quentin had dropped his glass and had a confused and fearful expression on his face.

He was standing still as a statue.

"Quentin luve, what's the matter?" Pansy asked as concern filled her deep blue eyes.

"Quentin?"

He didn't answer. She went to him and shook him gently, "Quentin, please say somethin'."

Still he said nothing and his eyes seemed far away.

Quentin couldn't move, he knew that name. LaCroix. The vague tip of a memory began to pierce his brain like a sharp knife, cutting into any other thoughts he had. "Lucien LaCroix…" he whispered remembering something that had happened.

Was it something from his past?

No.

Not from the past…

*

"I need you to tell me **everything** you saw and everything you know…but not now. We need to leave." He said to the man standing next to him. Quentin knew very well what the ghost was capable of and didn't want to stay and witness it for himself.

And he didn't want to see him again.

"I can't! My friend LaCroix is still in the house. I think the ghost has done something to him." His new companion Nick and replied. He was scared for his friend, truth be told Quentin feared for the man as well… face to face with that monster.

"Then you have no idea where in the house he is?" He asked knowing the answer to the question even before he asked it. Of course he didn't know.

"No, but I am positive the ghost has him."

"All right, all right." Quentin said as he slipped his hood back over his head. The rain had begun pouring down again making things positively dreary, giving everything a sad sense of hopelessness. As if the evening needed any help. 'A hopeless night for a hopeless case' Quentin thought to himself. Deciding not to voice his real opinion he continued, logic was prevailing. "We can't go back into the house again. At least not yet, we are not prepared and I don't even know the full events of this evening yet."

"But I can't just leave—"

"Listen to me, the ghost may be using your friend to lure you and possible even me into Collinwood. We would be walking straight into his trap, if you go back in there now you will be doing **exactly** what he wants. Come with me, we need to get out of here…now."

Quentin had never meant anything more than he meant that. They needed to leave desperately; hopefully the ghost hadn't seen him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he thought of what may happen if the ghost **did **see him.

Starting to walk in the direction of his car Quentin looked back at Nick who was staring at the large mansion with despair. Quentin could see the worry and concern for his friend written on his face.

"Don't worry Nick, we'll come back for him when we know we can help him."

Now he remembered.

He wasn't from 1897 anymore.

He belonged to the present…or future. He had died and was reliving his past again…

'Don't get lost' Magda's voice echoed inside his mind.

Lost, he had started to get lost and didn't even realize it.

*

"Quentin please!" a voice shouted breaking Quentin out of his thoughts…out of his memory of a time yet to come. Quentin put one hand to his face and uttered a moan; he had a terrible headache. Pansy started to lead him to the sofa but he gently broke away, he wanted to be alone in his room.

"No…no. I'm all right." He told her. Turning to the two men he continued… "Please excuse me, I have a terrible headache and I think I will go to bed for the evening."

"Yes, of course." LaCroix said to him, confused. Why did he have such a strong reaction to his name? Why did he act so strangely?

"Thanks, goodnight. It was nice meeting you … LaCroix."

Quentin left the drawing room and made his way to the West Wing, more specifically to his room. His head throbbed and he hoped that some peace and quite would make it stop.

He walked to the corridor that led to his room, he was the only one that lived in the West Wing and usually he was happy for it; tonight was one of those days. However it could get lonely, some would say that his family was generous and he was lucky to have an entire wing of Collinwood… however he knew the truth and couldn't really blame them.

His family couldn't stand his presence and the farther away from them he was the better.

They were never happier when he was in Egypt and traveling around the world.

He sighed heavily, being here again made him see how foolish and greedy he really was. But then again, it wasn't **just** him. It was all of them, Judith… Edward… Trask… everyone. None of them were saints, Judith and Edward for stealing his children away and locking Jenny up in the cold, damp and abandoned tower room.

Edward… he had done a great many things to Quentin. Some where understandable because of Quentin's actions… some were not. He wondered if his brother truly hated him.

Did he hate Edward?

He didn't think he **hated** him, he disliked him yes…but hate? No.

He was pretty sure Judith didn't hate him, he really didn't mind her too much… he probably even liked her if he thought enough about it. That was why her behavior had hurt him the most, what made her go along with Edward in this conspiracy to hide his two babies from his knowledge?

After living all those years he **still** didn't know the answers to those questions and he ached more now than ever to know the answers.

Walking down the hall his eyes stopped on a portrait. A portrait had always hung on the wall in this hallway… but he was positive that this particular one **didn't**.

It was a regular head to chest portrait.

But the man who was portrayed in the portrait was anything but regular.

It was a portrait of Count Andreas Petofi.

Quentin took a step back and shuddered. What was a portrait of him doing in a West Wing hall of Collinwood? Had Petofi himself put it there?

A cold, light finger tapped on his left shoulder making him jump. Whirling around quickly he found himself looking into the large, penetrating eyes of Jenny Collins… his dead wife.

She didn't look insane like she had the day she died. No, Jenny looked the way she had looked when he first married her… when she was beautiful, sweet and innocent. When they were **both** innocents.

She looked up and down the hall, making sure they were alone and no one was listening.

"Tainted" she whispered quickly.

Quentin blinked.

She was gone.

Chapter 16

Quentin went straight to his room, shut the door and locked it. Sinking into the chair by his old gramophone he pondered what his dead wife Jenny could have meant…. 'Tainted', that was all she had said before she vanished into thin air. What did she mean? Did she mean that **he** was tainted?

That wasn't a startling revelation. He was cursed after all, but could it be that she meant something else?

Sighing in frustration Quentin got up and poured himself another brandy, gulping it down in one swallow. Pouring another he turned on his gramophone sat down and let himself be carried off by the soft, caressing melody of a waltz… his favorite record. Everyone, including Quentin himself had just started calling it his theme.

Quentin's Theme

He closed his eyes as his body slowly and reluctantly relaxed. His mind thought of Jenny and their happy times together before everything went bad. They were few and far between but they did exist and this was his mind's destination as he listened to his record over and over, softly humming to the song.

*

Nick had gotten back from the hospital just before sunrise. Closing the curtains he went over to the bed and lied down, the news about Quentin had not been good. When he first arrived at the hospital in Collinsport they had just pronounced him DOA. However while Doctor Benson was breaking the news to him about Quentin's death a nurse rushed in and announced he was breathing and had a pulse.

Nick would have laughed at the expression Doctor Benson had on his face had the whole situation not been so frightening to him. After everyone was agreed that Quentin **was** alive after all Doctor Benson stated his condition as critical and decided he needed to be transferred to a large hospital in Portland that could handle his needs.

Nick had a feeling that Quentin would probably take care of everything himself in do time and prayed the hospital staff didn't discover Quentin's supernatural abilities.

After tonight Nick was certain that Mr. Quentin Collins was far from normal…or human.

Even with all these thought's running through his head it didn't take long for Nick to drift off & fall asleep from pure exhaustion of the night.

~

At first all he could see was a long dinning room table. He was in a dinning room… but from where? He was sure he had never seen this room before.

….Collinwood….

He knew it was the dinning room inside Collinwood…but how? He had never seen it when he was in the old mansion.

The room was bright… extremely bright. Nick couldn't see anything clearly and what he could see was becoming more and more transparent as if it were dissolving away. Without warning the room was filled with a blinding white light and Nick was sure for one horrible second that he was outside, during the day, in the hot unforgiving sun.

But then it faded away and his eyes began to adjust to the normally dim lit dinning room. He heard the faint and steady tick of the old wood clock in the corner; it was then that he realized he wasn't alone in the room. He could see clearly now and what a bizarre sight it was.

Eight people sat around the long oak table. In front of each one was a nametag with a name written on it with old fashion handwriting. Slowly Nick walked around the table reading each name out loud to himself.

Judith Collins

Edward Collins

Lady Kitty Hampshire

Reverend Gregory Trask

Jamison Collins

Nora Collins

Charity Trask

And there, sitting at the head of the table was a man Nick had seen several times.

Quentin Collins

He looked at each person at the table. They were so still; their eyes were so lifeless… like pieces of glass or marble. They looked like statues.

Tick….Tick….Tick. The sound of the clock echoed through the room giving it an empty feeling.

Nick leaned over closer to the person with the nametag 'Charity Trask'. There was no breathing, no warmth coming from her body.

They all looked like they were made out of porcelain.

Nick reached out to her, touching Charity's arm lightly.

Cold.

Hard.

They **were** statues. Every one of them was a lifeless porcelain statue. They had every detail, every likeness to a real person. Following his gaze down Charity's arm to her right hand Nick was horrified to discover that she didn't have one. He looked at all the other statues… they too were all missing their right hands, only a stub with a little 'bone' protruding from each was visible.

Nick took a step back from the dinning room table trying to grasp what he saw. Why would a talented artist sculpt everyone in the family with awesome detail, then leave off their right hand?

A slight movement in the bizarre porcelain museum caused him to jump and look towards the head of the table. He stared at the statue of Quentin hard but could see no movement; he must have imagined it. Still, he could swear he saw those blue glass eyes blink. Just once… while Nick's eyes were not focused on him.

Unlike the other statues whose hand was sitting in their laps, he had both his hands and they were lying flat on top of the table. Nick went over too him, bending down and getting a closer look. Quentin was wearing black gloves on both hands and staring straight ahead.

Tick…Tick…Tick…

Nick took a deep breath, unaware that he really didn't need to. He was a Vampire after all. Reaching out he hesitated only a second before touching Quentin's right arm.

Cold.

But it wasn't hard; it was soft like real skin. Quentin's left hand quickly and unexpectedly reached over and grabbed Nick's, holding tightly. Looking up and at his face he saw the frozen features begin to move into a wicked smile as his eyes blinked one more time.

Nick struggled to get away but couldn't, he felt weak and drained and wasn't sure why. His puzzlement must have shown on his face because Quentin began to laugh. It started out in his normal voice but began to take on new characteristics as he continued… getting deeper and more hoarse… like an older man's laughter. Nick tried to pull away again and was roughly pushed against the wall as Quentin stood. Approaching Nick Quentin still continued to laugh in an unfamiliar voice.

It wasn't Quentin's laughter at all. It wasn't his voice.

'He still looks like he's made of porcelain.' Nick's mind thought as he watched him get closer. His skin had no flaws; it was perfect, smooth and cold as ice.

Suddenly Quentin stopped laughing, gave him a pitying look and held out his right hand as if he wanted Nick to shake his hand.

Nick looked up at him will shock, fear and confusement all rolled into one as Quentin continued to offer his hand. Quentin gave a little nod as if to say that it was all right. Looking into his eyes Nick felt compelled to do it, 'Was this what it was like for his victims when he hypnotized them and messed with their minds? Was this what it was like to be a vampire's victim?'

He reached out and grabbed Quentin's right hand knowing that no good could come of it… and he was right. He felt a surge, like an electric shock as soon as their hands made contact. Nick pulled away as quickly as he could.

'Oh god no.' Nick thought as he looked down. In his hand he firmly held Quentin's glove covered right hand. It had come off when they shook. He shuddered inwardly but upon closer inspection he realized that it was a fake hand.

Nick dropped it to the ground and it shattered on the dinning rooms tile floor.

It was made of porcelain too.

He felt dizzy, sick, weak.

He collapsed to his knees as the room became bright again, he looked up as the light was about to blind him and saw Quentin looking down at him with impassive interest. Bright white light filled the rest of his vision until he could see no more of the horrible porcelain statues, Quentin Collins or missing hands.

Slowly the white light faded away and as he opened his eyes he realized that he was in his hotel room bed once again.

Was it just a dream?

A nightmare?

Or was it some kind of message from the ghost of Quentin Collins?

*

Portland, Maine - Portland Hospital

She looked down at the tall stack of papers in dismay, as she had gotten older she had learned to hate paper work. She had once loved it. It would give her a distraction and something to do. Now however she disliked it with a passion and made up her mind to put it off until tomorrow, instead she wanted to look over the list of her new patients. She always got a list of the patients with head injuries because, if they survived she would sometimes need to find therapists or physiologists if they had amnesia or missing memories. She often used to treat them herself but she no longer did so now. She knew that she should retire, let herself rest and enjoy the rest of her life but what would she do?

Pine over her lost love and friends?

Remember the horrors that she had seen?

No, she needed her job here. It was all she had left. She looked down at her nameplate: Manager.

Sighing, she grabbed a cup of tea, picked up the list of new patients with old, tired hands and flipped through them as she sipped. The normal batch of patients…

Rick Ford

Terry Shean

Laura Harding

Jerry King

Sean Lee

She read over them with little interest when suddenly a name from the far distant past jump out at her. She dropped her glass of tea immediately and gasped.

'No! It couldn't possibly be… but it was. He had to be dead by now. He would be over 130 years old. It had to be a different man…'

But as she read the name over and over she knew that it wasn't so. It couldn't be another person.

After all there was only one Quentin Collins.

Her secretary ran in with a worried expression. She must have heard her drop the cup of tea.

"Dr. Hoffman! Are you all right? I heard something break."

Chapter 17

LaCroix surveyed the 'green bedroom'. After talking with the boring Gregory Trask for well over an hour he had had quite enough and decided the best thing to do would be to retire to bed, planning on going to an Inn in Collinsport.

Mr. Trask however wouldn't hear of it and insisted that he stay in Collinwood. He wasn't sure if he was happy about it or not. He didn't trust Trask. He didn't trust Quentin. He hadn't even met Edward yet… and the biggest question of all; how was he going to explain his absence during the day?

LaCroix chuckled to himself as he went over to the window and looked out at the moonlit night. Perhaps he could use dear Nicholas' explanation, a skin disease or disorder that prevented him from going into the sun. Either that or use his powers… well he didn't need to cross that bridge until he arrived there.

What worried him most was how he got here and how he was going to get back. He didn't like the thought of being stuck here indefinitely. He had been getting the strangest feeling ever since he arrived. Everything felt real yet it didn't. It felt like something was out of place, not quite right. He knew it wasn't a dream, the ghost of Quentin Collins had sent him back in time. What he couldn't figure out was for what reason?

The answer had to lye with Quentin Collins.

*

"Petofi, it's late. Can't this wait until tomorrow morning?"

"No, dear boy. It can't wait… there is something that I want you to do for me."

"If you want something done Petofi, do it yourself! You've got the power to do it much easier than I."

Quentin had had enough of his orders. He had had enough of being pushed around. Besides, he knew that he didn't belong in this time and was already dead so what could Petofi possibly do?

"My… my, feeling particularly brave today are we? You haven't even heard what I want you to do yet."

  
Kill Barnabas Collins of course. Quentin knew that's what he wanted, he remembered it the last time it happened. Well, he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

"Petofi, you are so transparent. I know exactly what you want me to do." Quentin said smugly causing Petofi to give him a confused and rather surprised look.

"Why are you suddenly so different Quentin, my boy?"

"I'm not."  
Petofi chuckled. "All right dear boy. Do tell, what am I going to ask you to do?"  
"Kill Barnabas Collins of course."  
For a split second Petofi looked shocked, astounded. The brief look satisfied Quentin immensely. However Petofi quickly gained back his composure and continued.

"How right you are. You surprise me, perhaps you are smarter than you look."

"Oh, very funny."

Quentin was filled with rage but managed to hid it well just like he always did under a cool, calm and glib-tongued exterior. He knew how it effected people and had used it many times to his advantage… and dis- advantage. It could also get him into trouble.

This was one of those times.

"You're going to kill him for me Quentin."  
"What? And let you miss the joy and opportunity of doing it yourself. Oh, no. I wouldn't dare! I know that it would give you **so** much pleasure to put a stake through his heart. Do you do nothing yourself? Or do you just get all your little soldiers to do everything for you? Never mind, I can tell by your appearance that you do **my boy**."

Quentin knew he had pushed it too far. Petofi was not one to take his tongue, especially when it was aimed at him… but it felt so good, so satisfying that Quentin had to laugh.

His laughter abruptly ended however when Petofi smacked him hard across the face.

"You will pay for that!" Petofi shouted at him with rage. "What did you think you would gain by speaking to me in that manor?"  
"Only satisfaction Petofi."  
"I hope it was worth it Quentin."

Petofi stepped closer to him and raised his hand menacingly as a smile slowly crept onto his lips. Quentin took a step back and then another but Petofi kept coming towards him. He kept backing up until his back was pressed up against the wall and he could go no further.

Petofi was right in front of him now and there was no way to escape. He waved his hand in front of Quentin's face.

Blackness began to descend on Quentin's vision as his eyes began to burn. He shut his eyes and covered his face in his hands as he started to panic. What had Petofi done to him?

As the blackness and burning began to disappear he slowly lowered his hands and opened his eyes once again.

He was still in his room but it looked different somehow. Everything looked clearer and sharper, he realized that he could see much better than he could before. He never thought his eyesight was bad, nothing ever seemed blurry to him until now. He looked across the room towards his desk and realized that he could read the note lying on top of it even from where he was standing.

But there was something else too. He couldn't define colors. Red, Yellow, Blue, Orange… they all looked the same to him. But he realized that it wasn't just his eyesight that had improved… but all of his senses.

He swallowed hard as a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't right. This shouldn't be happening, it didn't happen the first time around… had he changed his own past?

He took a second look around, where was Petofi? He was gone; he must have left while Quentin had his eyes closed.

"Petofi!" Quentin shouted. "Petofi, what have you done!"

He didn't know what to do. He walked over to his half full glass of brandy sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. Upon arrival he took several large gulps. As he felt it burn down his throat he began to feel a little calmer. Then he saw the letters scrawled on his mirror above the fireplace mantle… in what he hoped was only blood red paint.

But he knew that it wasn't paint.

It was blood.

'DETNIAT'

It took him a minute to realize that it was backwards, as if someone had written it from the other side of the mirror – but he knew that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

'TAINTED'

There was that word again…what did it mean! As his eyes continued to stare at the frightening word his eyes focused on something behind them in the mirror.

They focused on his reflection.

What he saw was much more frightening then the words scrawled in blood.

*

LaCroix was bored. Extremely bored. He had never 'gone to bed' this early in all his vampire life, he had nothing to do and what was worse... he had nothing to eat. He decided it was time to go out and get a little midnight snack. He checked the closet and found some more appropriate men's clothes for the year, put them on and opened his bedroom door to checked the hall and make sure the coast was clear. It was and he slipped out in search of a little nighttime snack.

*

Petofi entered the old mill on the Collins Estate. He was staying there for the time being and he looked forward to more pleasant surroundings. The mill was dark, damp and sparsely furnished. An old music stand stood in the corner… his favorite piece. He had traveled all over the world and so had the music stand, he almost thought himself foolish for doing so but it was an important part of his past and he held on to it unwilling to let go.

He sat down on the tattered sofa in the middle of the room and smiled to himself as he lit an expensive cigar.

Yes, tonight would be an interesting and enlightening night for Mr. Collins. He has grown bolder, stronger and braver. It surprised him. He would have thought that it would be the other way around. Quentin would have been a tough enemy had Petofi been mortal… human. However he **wasn't** human and he **wasn't** about to let Quentin go.

First Quentin is going to learn a lesson he will never forget.

Then I will take what I have wanted for so very long.

He wasn't going to let what happened before happen again.

*

It was extremely late. Julia knew that she should go home and come back to the hospital in the morning but she couldn't. She had to see him… she had to know. She waited outside his room in the hall; the doctors were examining him now. They had been ever since he arrived yesterday; she had a feeling that they were completely baffled even after taking all his X-rays.

She heard footsteps approaching her from behind and looked over hoping that it was one of the doctors, however it wasn't a doctor, it was a young man. He had short golden hair and was average height. She thought that he was quite handsome even if his complexion was rather pale.

"Hi, I was looking for room 197. Could you tell me where I can find it?" He asked politely.

Julia was a little shocked but didn't let it show. Room 197 was the room that they were keeping 'Quentin' in. She pointed to her right and told him, "It's right there but I'm afraid he isn't allowed any visitors at the moment. The doctors are in there with him now."  
"Oh, do you know how he is doing? Is there any change?"  
"I don't know. I am waiting to see him. What's your name?"  
"Nick, Nick Knight."  
"Well Nick, it's a little late to be visiting. Why don't you come back during visiting hours."  
Nick looked at the stern older woman skeptically, why was she waiting to see Quentin?  
"I'm afraid I can't. You see I have a rare skin disease that prevents me from going out into the sun. I can only come here at night."  
Julia looked at him again. Pale complexion… can't go into the sun… and if it was Quentin, he was waiting around the Portland hospital in the middle of the night to see a man over 130 years old.

No, her mind was just jumping to conclusions.

He explained why he was so pale, why he couldn't go out in the sun.

But still… perhaps it was safer to find out for sure before letting him near the man in room 197.

*

Quentin stared into the mirror in horror… past the letters scrawled in blood. He was staring at his own reflection.

His eyes… there was something terribly wrong with his eyes. His pupils were thin and narrow like…

"No…" Quentin whispered to himself in terror.

They looked like a wolf's eyes.

He couldn't tell what color they were… he couldn't define any colors, he could see clearer because his eyes were that of a werewolf. He let out a shaky breath as he closed his eyes.

'It's just a dream…wake up.' He thought to himself. He opened his eyes again and looked back into the mirror.

His eyes were still like a wolf's eyes.

"Wake up…wake up…wake up!" He shouted to himself as he closed his eyes again in desperation. When he looked at himself again he saw that there was no change.

He ran to his window and looked outside into the black night, looked at the moon.

Quentin shivered as the silvery light shined into his room.

It was a full moon tonight.  


Chapter 18

LaCroix stepped into the small pub named "The Blue Whale" and was instantly assaulted with the smell of alcohol, cheap cigarette's and a high pitched voice singing a bawdy song.

This was not normally his type of place.

He preferred the more expensive lifestyle.

However, since this was the * only * place in town and he was hungry this would have to do.

Across the tables he recognized Charity or rather Pansy as the owner of the voice singing. Her face was covered with even more make-up then when he met her before at Collinwood as she danced lewdly from table to table. She wasn't very talented but the drunks probably didn't care one way or another as long as she was good to look at. He sighed, despite all the heavy make-up she actually was easy on the eyes.

LaCroix let a small smile play across his lips as he watched his next meal in hungry anticipation.

*

Quentin stared at the icy moon with his wolf-like eyes as its cold light washed over him, enveloping him. A feeling started to stir within him and he forgot all about the problems that faced him.

He wanted to run.

Run and run until he reached the end of the earth and could run no more. He wanted to be free; nothing else mattered to him. Nothing at all.

He left the West Wing the back way, no one but himself ever used it anymore, not even the servants. As he stepped into the moonlight the instinct became stronger. He didn't try to fight it.

"Run" he whispered to himself as he looked up at the moon. "Run."

He took off into the forest, going as fast as he could. The trees were a blur as he ran like a mad man, the moon still visible through the treetops. He felt the cool night air against his face as his dark brown hair danced in the wind. It felt so good to be free, outside the walls of Collinwood that so often felt like a locked cage. As he ran deeper into the forest the treetops became thicker as less and less moonlight began to leak through. The instinct to run began to slowly disappear as his side began to ache. Quentin slowed to a stop and slowly sank to the ground.

What was he doing?

What was wrong with him?

He had completely lost control of himself. He looked up towards the sky but it was completely blocked by the thick trees. Quentin's breathing was ragged and heavy as he looked around him, he must have been deep inside the forest. He didn't recognize where he was and the vegetation was thick. The bark of the trees around him was covered with a dark green moss and the night seemed to press in on him as he looked into the blackness that came from every direction.

Looking down at his arms he could see that his shirt was completely torn to shreds from having gone through the thick underbrush. He blinked a couple times and realized that his eyesight was back to normal as well. Quentin could feel his arms begin to tingle and sting and he realized that he had scraped himself up badly.

Quentin took a deep, shaky breath… he was frightened. It was cold and dark and he had no idea which way to go. The darkness seemed to keep closing in on him and he knew that no matter what was happening to him he had to get out of the dark, haunting woods. Slowly he pulled himself off the ground; his body protesting every move as it ached all over.

He spun around once and began walking in the direction that he was facing.

*

Julia eyed the man before he suspiciously. Could he be a vampire? All the signs were there; she had to find out. She reached into her pocket and wrapped her hand around a silver chain necklace. A gift given to her long ago, it was from Barnabas Collins. He had given it to her when Doctor Lang had momentarily cured him from his vampirism. Ever since that terrible night in 1969 she had kept it with her, a reminder of the past that haunted her still.

"What's your name?" Nick asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Dr. Julia Hoffman.... You know Mr. Knight; I used to know Quentin a long time ago. That is, if this is the man I think it is." Julia said casually.

"Really? Was he a good friend?"

"Not at first but he slowly grew on me. He has suffered greatly in his life. I hope that he pulls though this."

"Do you think he will?"  
"Yes I do."

She sounded very sure. Nick wondered just what she was up too. She seemed to know Quentin quite well. Just how long ago had she known him? Did she know Quentin's secrets? Did Julia Hoffman know the secrets that he had been trying so hard to find? He started to say something when Julia interrupted.

"He gave me the most beautiful necklace, I always have it with me…" Julia lied smoothly as she reached in her pocket and pulled out a silver necklace. "See?" she continued as she held dangled it in front of Nick's face.

Nick gasped as he pulled back instinctively and shuddered. He put his arms in front of him in a protectively, he had not been prepared for her 'gift'.

"Isn't the cross lovely." Julia continued as if nothing were wrong. She smiled to herself as she watched him recoil in fear from the sight of it.

So she had been right after all, Nick was a vampire.

*

LaCroix had found it incredibly easy to get Pansy out of the Blue Whale for a little midnight 'stroll'. His powers may have had something to do with it. He looked down at her as she hung on his arm and looked into his face with lovesick eyes that reflected the full moon hanging high in the night sky. She didn't even notice when they hit the end of town and continued walking towards the edge of the woods surrounding Collinsport.

He took her a little ways into the woods. He wanted to be sure that no one saw what went on between him and her. As they stopped he looked down at her and smiled. He leaned down and began to whisper sweet, insincere words in her ear. Slowly he pulled off her shall and tossed it on the damp forest ground. Pansy didn't care; she only continued to stare into his eyes completely under LaCroix's control. He playfully nibbled on Pansy's ear as his hands worked their way to the buttons on the front of her dress. LaCroix unbuttoned the first two as she giggled like a schoolgirl with her first crush. He pulled the high collar away from her neck revealing the tender skin.

*

Quentin had been walking for what seemed like ages. He was miserable and shivering from the cold wind that swept through the woods around him, his torn shirt offering no protection. As he continued to stumble through the forest he began to hear what seemed like a man's voice.

'Was he just imaging it?' Quentin wondered silently. He turned slightly; walking in the direction the sound was coming from. As he got closer the woods became less thick allowing some moonlight to shine through. He could here the sound clearer now. Indeed it was a man's voice and it sounded familiar… he just couldn't quite place it.

His eyes began to burn again, the same as they had when he was in his room. The fiery pain forced him to stop walking and close them for a minute. He groaned softly as the pain finally started to ease away.

When Quentin opened his eyes again, he could see much more clearly in the dark night.

He could hear a man's voice and a woman's light giggle. They seemed so much louder now.

He started running in the direction the voices came from…. Quentin knew exactly where they were.

*

Magda sat in the Old House drawing room polishing off her crystal ball. She had a feeling that something was wrong but she didn't know what. She had seen nothing in the clear crystal and tried to shake it off but the feeling continued to stay with her. As much as people hated to admit it, her feelings were usually right.

Magda pulled out her tarot cards. Perhaps they would tell her something… give her some hint as to why she had this terrible feeling. She sat down at the old desk that sat in the corner and began to lay them out in her favorite tarot formation. She was about to place the third card down when she felt like someone was watching her from the doorway. Magda looked up to find Jamison Collins standing there looking very worried.

"Magda, have you seen my Uncle Quentin?"

"What are ya doing here so late? Ya ain't supposed to be wandering around in the middle of the night by yourself."

"Have you seen him Magda!" Jamison continued desperately, ignoring Magda's scolding.

"No I ain't seen him. Why?"  
"I had the most frightening dream about him! I… I have to know if he is all right!"

*

LaCroix seductively kissed Pansy's neck, slowly working his way down to the most tantalizing spot. Pansy was completely hypnotized by him now as she stood silently letting him do whatever he wished. LaCroix moved himself away only slightly as his fangs descended, his mouth watering in anticipation.

Slowly he bit into her neck and gently began to feed, fully intending to take every last drop of the sweet liquid from the bawdy show girl.

He was interrupted by the sound of someone coming towards them in the woods. He reluctantly pulled his fangs from Pansy and looked up to see who dared to disturb his supper.

In a stream of moonlight shinning down through the forest trees stood the tall figure of Quentin Collins; the light causing his form to look silvery-gray in color. His wolf-like eyes were the only things that stood out as they gleamed an unnatural shade of steel blue.

Quentin lifted his head higher, smelling Pansy's blood in the air. He smiled at LaCroix revealing long sharp, canine teeth. He wouldn't let LaCroix have Pansy.

He wouldn't let him kill her.

She was * his *.

Chapter 19

LaCroix had never seen anything like the sight he saw before him now.  
Even the living Quentin Collins was not human. But what was he?  
His eyes and teeth appeared to be that of a wolf's, his expression challenging.  
LaCroix was momentarily shaken… what was he up against?

Quentin let out a low guttural growl as he sized up LaCroix.

LaCroix mustered up all his strength and let his eyes grow a demonic shade of red. He wasn't going to be bullied by this… creature that was Quentin Collins.

Quentin tipped his head to one side and smiled, flexing his fingers out straight. Only then did LaCroix notice the long, sharp, deadly nails dangling from each long finger as they caught the light.

Without warning Quentin rushed toward LaCroix like lightning knocking Pansy out of his grasp and throwing her to the damp forest ground. LaCroix immediately reacted by grabbing hold of Quentin and shoving him into the nearest tree trunk but Quentin moved quickly and managed to spin himself around and miss the tree all together enraging LaCroix even further. He dove for Quentin's neck and latched on tight. His fangs began to descend once again and he roughly grabbed hold of Quentin's jaw forcing him to look into his ember red eyes. Quentin however didn't look surprised or frightened at all, his eyes shimmering dangerously as they met LaCroix's gaze and before he even realized it Quentin held his right hand up and slashed it across LaCroix's face, his sharp dagger-like nails digging into his cheek.

LaCroix immediately dropped his hold on Quentin and reached up to his face, which burned with an excruciating pain. He hadn't felt anything like it in a good while and he didn't like it one bit. He let out his own low primal growl as he charged at Quentin once again, losing all control of himself and using his full vampiric speed.

He was in front of Quentin's startled wolf eyes in a flash. His face still stung and LaCroix knew that it should have started to heal right away but the pain didn't let up.

He leaped onto Quentin knocking them both to the ground and they rolled across the damp forest earth clawing at each other like animals.

Pansy began to scream as she finally snapped out of her hypnotic state. It pierced the night but not the thoughts of the two fighting at her feet. Both determined to kill the other before the night was out.

Suddenly LaCroix felt a strong hand on his shoulder; the other hand on Quentin's as they were pried roughly apart. The strength of all three men was not human but something much more.

LaCroix looked up into the brown eyes of another of his kind. The man was about his height with very dark brown hair that came down in spikes on his forehead. He wore a long cloak and had a cane dangling from one forearm as he continued to hold the two away from each other, both of whom where struggle to break free. The man had a very hard time holding them both in place and in the end failed as their strength toppled his owns.

Neither LaCroix nor Quentin went after each other however as fatigue hit them both like a ton of bricks.

First, the man studied LaCroix. He knew he was a vampire, one vampire could always sense anther's presence. They he looked over at Quentin and let out a small gasp.

"Quentin!" the man said rather desperately. Evidently this wasn't an every day scenario. Quentin looked back at the other vampire. He stood tall, his head tilted upward and one eyebrow arched. His eyes still where that of a wolf's and his nails still long.

"Quentin, my god what happened to you!" the man said again as he completely ignored LaCroix. From what LaCroix could tell he figured that these two must have been good acquaintances and that Quentin's appearance was not normal. "Quentin!" the man pleaded one last time.

Quentin looked up to the moon for a moment before he looked back at the other vampire. When their eyes locked he began to whisper, his voice was haunting and icy. Yet his tone was pure steel, smooth yet hard at the same time matching his wolf-like eyes.

"The moonlight shines down onto me  
And when it does I do see,  
Only then do I feel free.  
As the outdoor air is all I can breathe,  
The taste of blood I do need,  
So under the moon I do feed.  
In the light of a pale moon I do see,  
That I am completely free,  
So let me be."

When he stopped speaking the woods surrounding them became darker… more ominous. His voice seemed to leave a chill in the air and echo into the night. The other vampire whispered to himself the beginning of Quentin's dark moonlight poem.

"The moonlight shines down onto me… and when it does I do see –" He looked up suddenly towards the moon then back at Quentin. Quickly the other vampire grabbed hold of Quentin's arm and half walked, half dragged him towards a dark clump of trees, LaCroix looked up and saw what the other vampire was thinking… the treetops would let no moonlight leak through them.

Quentin struggled in the other vampire's grasp as he pushed him into a dark thick underbrush and then followed. The large tree's blocked out any image of the full moon.

As soon as Quentin was out of the moon's light he collapsed at the vampire's feet, his eyes closed. The vampire kneeled next to Quentin and shook him lightly as he whispering his name.

"Quentin? …. Quentin?"

Nothing.

"Quentin!" he said again as he shook him harder. Quentin wouldn't wake up. The vampire heard two people approaching to see what was going on but the vampire quickly intercepted.

"Would you please leave him alone for a moment. He is not well." He stated simply as if nothing were wrong.

"What the hell is he!" LaCroix nearly shouted. His rage evident as the side of his face still burned. He was sick of all of this; he wanted to get back to the present time. This strange vampire knew something and he wasn't just going to just let it drop.

"I do not know what you mean. Who are you?"  
"Lucien LaCroix and you know exactly what I mean!"

"I am Barnabas Collins. Are you a friend of the family? Does any of the Collins' know that you are here?"

"Yes as a matter of fact… that **thing** over there greeted me earlier this evening." LaCroix said coolly as he pointed to Quentin's still form lying on the ground. "What is he? I've never seen anything like it."

"To tell you the truth Mr. LaCroix I haven't the slightest idea what happened myself. I, like you have never seen anything quite like it."

"Well now, what's this all about!" Pansy interrupted. "What's happened to Quentin? Why is he lying on the ground like that?"

"Pansy please –" Barnabas started, only to be interrupted by Quentin's voice. They all turned towards Quentin immediately, startled by the sudden noise. He moaned as he shifted a little on the damp ground and then started to mumble, it was inaudible to human hearing. Even with Barnabas and LaCroix vampiric senses they couldn't make out what he was saying. He still appeared to be unconscious and that worried Barnabas immensely.

*

Julia paced the hall waiting for the doctors to exit Quentin's room… to give her some news… anything! This waiting was making her jittery and being with a vampire stranger didn't help matters any. She didn't want to let on that she knew what he was, not yet anyway. But what was she going to do? He seemed civil enough… perhaps he was like Barnabas was. Seeking a cure for his terrible curse. She looked over at him briefly and chuckled softly, 'Yeah right' she thought to herself as Nick gave her a curious and suspicious look.

"Would you be a dear and get me a cup of coffee?" Julia asked Nick innocently. "There is a machine a couple halls down." She continued. Nick grudgingly nodded his head in agreement and set off to find the vending machine. He looked like he knew exactly what she was doing… getting rid of him.

Once Nick was out of sight she went over to the hospital room's door and knocked lightly. The door opened almost immediately and Julia was relieved to see that it was a man she knew well, Dr. Greg Peterson. He smiled and then stepped out into the hall with Julia.

"I was just about to leave. What brings you here at this hour Julia?"

"I think I may have known the patient you've been seeing to. How is he?"

The Doctor's face seemed to pale slightly. "Well Julia, to be completely honest he seems to be doing better than he was before."  
Julia was relieved to hear it but was troubled by Greg's expression.

"Well isn't that good?"

"Julia, when he was brought in here… well let me just say that he should have been dead. Massive internal bleeding, fractured neck and a broken back were his most serious injuries. That alone should have killed him, whatever hit him – it hit him hard and fast. I haven't done anything really other than a few casts because … I don't really think that I am needed."  
"What in the world are you talking about?"

"Well Julia..." He cleared his throat and looked up and down the hall making sure the coast was clear. "He seems to be healing himself."

Julia raised her eyebrows in surprise, however she suspected that if Quentin had lived this long he must have something supernatural going for him.

"May I see him Greg?"

"Sure. But don't stay to long." he said as he turned and walked away, quickly vanishing around the corner.

Julia stepped into the room, walking slowly over to the side of the bed.

She nearly fainted when she saw the man's face.

It was Quentin Collins.

The man she had come to know well when she traveled back in time to the year 1897.

She sat down on the side of his bed and grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. His face was terribly pale and his body was covered in bandages and casts. But he hadn't aged a bit; he still looked like a young man of 27. Not the old 100+ man that he really was. Her voice caught in her throat as she tried to speak, her second attempt better than the first.

"My God… Quentin? Quentin, is it really you?"

*

Barnabas, LaCroix and Pansy all watched Quentin intently. He had stopped mumbling and become still again. At least for the moment. Barnabas looked over at LaCroix and Pansy.

"Mr. LaCroix, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Trask back to Collinwood?"  
"But—" Pansy started but Barnabas interrupted.

"As soon as I can get him to wake I will bring him back to Collinwood, we can talk there. I think you should get that wound attended to Mr. LaCroix."

"Very well." LaCroix said grudgingly as he wrapped his arm around Pansy's waste and led her back to the large mansion.

Barnabas watched them disappear into the night glad to have gotten rid of the two of them. He knew that LaCroix was a vampire and wouldn't say anything about what he saw and he was pretty sure Pansy didn't remember much about the evening. He knelt back down next to Quentin just as he began to speak still unconscious.

"J-J-Julia? Julia? What … hap-happened? What … are you doin' here?" Quentin said out loud. Barnabas immediately started. Julia? Was he talking about Julia Hoffman? 'But he's never met her before… I've never even mentioned her name…' Barnabas thought to himself as he looked down at Quentin with confusion.

*

Julia continued to squeeze his hand tightly as she studied him. He didn't look good at all and she suspected that what Dr.Greg Peterson had told him was true. He should be dead.

Quentin's eyes fluttered open suddenly, startling Julia and causing her to drop his hand and move back a little.

His crystal blue eyes looked over in her direction. As their eyes met his breathing quickened slightly and his eyebrows shot up.

"J-J-Julia? Julia? What … hap-happened? What … are you doin' here?" Quentin said, his voice raspy and barely audible.

Julia smiled slightly and held his hand again. She couldn't believe it. She had thought him long dead by now but here he was.

Now there was no doubt, this was the man Barnabas and herself had tried to save from his deadly fate along with the lives of David Collins and Chris Jennings back in the year 1969. This was indeed the Quentin Collins she had known while in the past… in the year 1897.

Chapter 20

"Quentin… it is you! I thought you had died a long time ago!" Julia said to him as she held Quentin's hand tightly. Quentin's eyebrows rushed together. Died… yes he had died but he wasn't dead.

"Died…" Quentin whispered quietly. Julia nodded thinking he was talking to her.

Quentin's thoughts were swimming in confusion. Everything was unclear and fuzzy to him. He shut his eyes tightly trying to will the blurry image of Julia standing next to him to come into focus.

"Quentin, are you all right?" Julia asked in concern.

Her voice was just a whisper now. 'Why is she whispering?' thought Quentin who was already disoriented and confused by his surroundings. He opened his eyes and looked at her, about to voice his silent question.

But Julia wasn't standing there anymore.

Barnabas was.

"What? Where's Julia, Barnabas?" Quentin asked, his voice hoarse.

"Quentin! You're awake, thank god!" Barnabas said relieved as he rushed to Quentin's side.

"Julia! She was standing right next to me Barnabas, where did she go?"

"Quentin, what on earth are you talking about? I'm the only one who's been standing next to you."

"No!" Quentin said harshly as he tried to get up. Between Barnabas pushing him back down and the dizziness he felt the attempt was useless. "Barnabas – please stop pushing me."

"Quentin, you've been out for a half an hour. Do you remember what happened tonight?"

Quentin looked up into Barnabas' confused face. He knew though that however confused Barnabas' face appeared his must have looked ten times worse. He took a couple deep and shaky breaths as he tried to calm himself down. He had to think clearly, he couldn't allow himself to panic.

With each breath he took he felt a little calmer and his memories started to return once more.

*

Julia was beginning to really worry. Quentin had looked all right a moment ago. Then suddenly he had fainted without warning. She reached down and shook him gently trying to rouse him from his slumber.

There was no response.

"Quentin…. Quentin, please wake up!" She whispered to him in his ear.

Nothing.

She sat down in a chair next to the bed not knowing what to do. Ordinarily she would call a doctor but Quentin seemed to be healing himself, what good would a doctor do?

The sound of Quentin's voice broke into her thoughts. His words just barely audible as she got up and leaned close to him attempting to hear what he was saying.

"No… B-Barnabas, please stop pushing me."

Julia's breath caught in her throat. Was he dreaming that he was talking to his cousin? Or… was he **really** talking to him? No… he can't be talking to Barnabas, he can't be! Stop torturing yourself Julia!

"Quentin…" she called again lightly hoping, praying for a response.

*

"Barnabas… I remember now! I was standing outside the Collinsport Inn thinking when I heard a loud ripping sound above me. Yes! The branch – it – it fell. I was looking out the window… no, no that's not right. I wasn't doing that. Where? Oh I—"

"Quentin, calm down your not making any sense. Now just try-"

"… It wasn't me **but** it was me. No… No, it was the ghost looking out the window not me." Quentin continued rambling to himself, ignoring Barnabas completely. "He wanted me to die. It was my time to die and he made it come true!" Quentin said as his voice steadily increased in volume. He forced Barnabas to let him up and began to pace back and forth in the darkened section of the Collinsport woods. Dead leaves crunching with every step he took.

"Who is **he** Quentin? What are you talking about? What happened to you tonight?"

"He… he… he is me, but not really. He only looks like me. I'm the only one who knows who he **really** is. That's why he had to get rid of me… but he hasn't. No, no, no…. He hasn't. Not yet but he will try again, I have to be ready. I-"

"Quentin…" Julia's voice said softly in his ear interrupting his ramblings. He turned to the right expecting to see her standing next to him.

No one was there.

"What's the matter Quentin?" Barnabas asked as his eyebrows rushed together in concern. He didn't like the way Quentin was acting at all… he seemed to be losing his mind.

"Julia… Julia where are you?" Quentin shouted confused and desperate.

*

"Julia… Julia where are you?" Quentin finally whispered back. Julia called his name again and his eyes snapped open.

"Thank god Quentin!"

He turned his head and didn't say anything at first but as his eyes seemed to adjust he started to smile back at her. "Julia… I'm so glad I'm back. There is so much that I have to tell you."

"Just relax for now Que-"

"No! I don't know how much time I have, I have to tell you now."

"Quentin, you're going to be fine. You'll see…" her voice dropped down to a whisper. "…You're healing yourself you know."

"Yes, but-"

"Now no buts. I'll give you a sedative to relax you." Julia said, Quentin's eyes filling with fear.

"Julia, please… don't. If you do that it may send me back. I can't be sent back to my past again!" he said as he grasped Julia's arm desperately.

The look in his eyes stopped Julia immediately. She had never seen such fear in him before, as much as she wanted to give him a sedative she decided not to. He was so frightened that it may have a bad effect.

Julia sighed and reluctantly agreed.

**

3 days later

Nick entered his room at the Inn having just returned from the hospital. It was good news today, Quentin would be coming home tomorrow morning after having made a 'miraculous' recovery. Nick had picked up his mail down in the lobby and found Merlin's envelope with information and pictures of Quentin Collins. It was only supposed to take a day but arrived late, Nick thought it wasn't even going to arrive at all.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed he opened up the envelope and looked over the contents carefully.

*

Quentin was just tying his tie when Julia walked in and smiled at him brightly. On his last visit Nick had brought him some of his clothes from the Inn since he was leaving the hospital today. Quentin seemed to have made a quick and full recovery and Julia was happy for it. She was a little worried though because he didn't seem to talk much, he was very quiet and seemed to be closed off to her… a bit removed and that was very unlike him. Quentin was usually very talkative and open.

"How are you feeling Quentin dear?"

Quentin looked over and smiled. "Much better, as good as new." It was almost true, he felt fine except for a small headache that didn't seem to want to go away.

"Good!"

Quentin turned back to the mirror as he finished the final knot of his tie. His hands froze and his mouth dropped in shock. There it was again.

TAINTED – spelled out backwards in the mirror. The writing was blood red.

"What's the matter?" Julia asked as she glanced in the mirror briefly. Quentin looked at her with wide eyes and then back at the mirror. She didn't seem to see it.

He laughed nervously. "Oh nothing. Just a trick of the light I guess." At Julia's skeptical look he continued. "Really Julia, everything's OK. It's nothing. Now… let's get outta here!" He replied as he jokingly slipped into a southern accent. Julia thought that it seemed rather natural for him. She nodded and walked out the door.

Quentin followed her as he took one last glance in the hospital mirror and shuddered slightly.

He had lied to Julia.

He still saw the haunting and familiar writing taunting him in the mirror.


	4. Part 3

Chapter 21 

A little piece of paper with a picture drawn,  
Floats on down the street until the wind is gone,  
The memory now is like the picture was then,  
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again.  
- Forgotten, Linkin Park

Nick had gone through everything in the small manila envelope at least three times. Everything Merlin sent had been very enlightening. Nick didn't need any more proof… this man was over 100 years old. There was no doubt of that now. Even worse he must have known more than he was telling which meant he might be putting LaCroix's 'life' in danger. Nick knew there was no choice but to confront Quentin about all he had learned. He could only hope that Quentin would be honest with him… and that he isn't dangerous to an 800+ year old vampire.

*

Quentin sighed and walked over to the window. Dusk was beginning to fall once again; his entire day spent trying to get rid of Julia. He loved Julia… but had wanted to be alone, especially after having all those doctors hovering over him like bees on honey for the past few days. Julia kept asking question after question, none of which he wanted to answer at the time. With each of her words his head would start to hurt more and more… like the increasingly loud thunder a storm will bring as it moves closer to you.

He looked up at the rising moon which was graciously only half of it's full circle.

"I'm not going to just sit here and wait for evening."

Quentin turned from the window in a flash, looking for the source of the woman's voice. It couldn't have been her…

He felt a wave of dizziness suddenly and he closed his eyes for a moment and steadied himself with the windowsill that sat next to him. When his eyes opened once again they were not those of the present but of the past.

"Oh no don't. Do something… DO SOMETHING!" he said wryly as he slipped back to his old, 1897 self.

"I'm GOING to!"

"You be careful. Don't make it worse."

"How could I?"

"Oh, easily."

"Quentin? Who the hell are you talking to?" Nick interrupted. He had just walking into Quentin's room at the Inn and overheard him talking to an invisible companion, at least invisible to him. Quentin staggered for a moment and then looked up towards Nick, this time with recognition and not shock.

"Quentin… are you still ill?"

"No… I – I'm just tired that's all. If you'll let me rest a little I'm sure-"

"Quentin, I might as well get to the point. I think we need to be honest with each other if we're going to work together, don't you?" Nick started; he was tired of playing games.

"What are you getting at?"

"I've had a full background check done on you. There is no Quentin Collins in the present… but there is a Quentin Collins born in 1870. That's you… isn't it? ISN'T IT!"

Quentin looked up at him again; his eyebrow arched high with a wicked smirk to match.

"Oh please, do I look like I'm over 130 years old to you?"

"You know as well as I do that you don't have to look your age."

"I don't know what your talking about, Nick. What are you going to do anyway, go screaming to the world that I'm past my prime?"

Nick shook his head in frustration, he had a feeling that Quentin wouldn't admit all this easily and now he could see that he was right.

"Quentin, I don't intend to tell anyone but I do have proof. Proof that may not stand up to other people but is enough for me."

"Just what sort of proof are you talking about?" Quentin asked as annoyance laced his voice.

"First, I had a full background check on you. You don't exist – your parents are complete fiction. Second, you were crushed by a branch that should have killed you, would have killed any normal man. Third, you were pronounced dead… then all of a sudden you make a miraculous return to life and an even more miraculous recovery. Fourth… is this picture." Nick said as he dug around in his coat pocket, presenting and old black and white photograph wrinkled around the edges and tinted yellow with age. Nick held the photo in front of Quentin's face, forcing him to look at it.

Quentin shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Remarkable resemblance don't you say?" Nick replied.

Quentin put his hand on top of the photograph and slowly pushed down, forcing Nick to lower it out of his face. Smiling Quentin took a couple steps around the room and then turned towards him again.

"There is just one thing you are forgetting Nick, if I am the original Quentin Collins then WHO is the ghost haunting the halls of Collinwood… and us?"

"That is the one thing that I haven't figured out Quentin…. But I think that you have." Nick said forcefully, he wouldn't be swayed or discouraged by Quentin's reaction to his accusations. But Nick had a surprise coming to him.

"You're so very sure of yourself aren't you Nick? You put 2 and 2 together and you came up with 5. You jumped to some rather strong conclusions. I'm not surprised that you would be the one to do it though."

Quentin's smile widened and his eyes shimmered with excitement.

"How very right you are Nick. Yes, I am the original Quentin Collins. I was born on October 28, 1870."

Nick was taken aback for a moment by Quentin's sudden admission but only for a moment.

"What are you?"

"You mean you haven't figured that out for yourself?" Quentin faked mock horror. "You disappoint me so, I thought you would have figured it out long ago since I am so transparent."

"No, you're not that."

"Thank you. As for your question… I'm many things Nick. When one has been as many things as I one begins to lose track. But then again, I am not the only one in this room with a supernatural secret now am I Nick?"

Nick became defensive immediately. "What do you mean?"

"Well, well. Wonder of wonders, positions have reversed themselves and now it's my turn to spend a half an hour to drag the truth out of YOU." Quentin laughed. "Please, spare me the denials. I know that you are a vampire… I've known almost all along."

Nick knew that he had wanted to be honest about Quentin… but he wasn't really ready to be honest about himself. He never expected for Quentin to already know about his secret. Either way he figured he had better just tell the truth.

"How did you find out?"

"You're not the only one who can put two and two together. I suspect that I can trust you to keep my secret…" Quentin said as his voice hit a serious note before continuing. "…and you can trust me to keep yours. I have no desire to reveal your secret Nick. Besides, you have more proof that I am supernatural than I do you."

"Then you don't loath what I am… you're not frightened?" asked Nick doubtfully.

"I'll tell you what I told another long ago. I am never without fear, Nick. But who am I to judge you? I have done and been many things and very few of them are good. You cannot help what you are anymore than I can help what I am. We didn't choose our destiny, it was already chosen."

Nick shook his head and smiled slightly. It seemed that Quentin was completely comfortable alone in a room with a vampire. Like it was totally normal and happened every night.

"Can I trust you Nick?"

"Yes Quentin. You can trust me, I'm glad we finally laid all our cards out on the table."

"It was about time if you ask me! You know what worries me the most though Nick? It's the fear that neither of us have been dealt the winning hand."

Chapter 22

Falling.

He was falling back and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Faster and faster he fell as he gained deadly speed with each foot he dropped.

Falling into nothing and everything. Why can't I stop it? He thought wildly but deep down he knew why, because the dark precipice he found himself in was endless, like a black hole.

After what seemed to be an eternity he felt himself make impact with the ground but it was surreal, he really didn't feel himself hit the ground but could feel the solid floor below his feet. He saw nothing at first but slowly a room appeared around him.

It was his room. His old room in the West Wing of Collinwood, the first thing to catch his attention was his hand painted red gramophone as it stood catching the rays of light that spilled through his window. The gramophone had been his mother's as was the record that always played on it. He was so young when she died that this was the only thing he had to remember her by, the only thing that made him feel as if he was near her.

A bittersweet smile played out on his lips as he thought about her. He had seen pictures of her; she used to be a very lovely and beautiful woman. He walked over to it and ran his hand down the smooth red horn, then reached over and turned it on. The strings of a sweet, melancholy waltz filled his room.

It had been so long since he heard his waltz play.

So very long.

"I've always wanted to go to Vienna… and wear a beautiful silk gown." A woman's voice said dreamily, making Quentin jump nearly a foot high. He hadn't been alone in the room at all; she had been standing silently behind him the entire time. He faced her, his expression pained. He remembered the first time she had uttered those words, so cruel he had been to her. He regretted that now. He had pushed her away and pretended he didn't care but she was really the only woman he ever truly loved and the only woman who ever truly loved him.

"And Waltz… and WALTZ all night long!" she continued as she danced gracefully around the room, dreaming of something that he knew would never happen.

She was the only woman who knew almost every dirty secret he had, knew everything about him and could still love him, regardless of it all.

"Yes Beth, I would like that."

She looked over at him suddenly, caught off guard. She wasn't used to him agreeing with her little fantasy's of them being together.

"We will waltz into the night… waltz forever until there is nothing else." He continued.

Beth's eyes lit up by his show of optimism and hope. He swept her into his arms and they began to dance to the waltz together as they held each other tightly, afraid to let go. Quentin knew that this would never last but he would enjoy every minute of it until it had to come to an end.

"Yes Beth" He whispered into her ear. "We will waltz forever until the whole world vanishes… and only the two of us remain." He looked into her eyes and saw that she was crying. Now was the time to tell her what he never had a chance to tell her the first time. As the last strings of the waltz filled the room they slowed their lovers waltz to a stop. They both looked deep into each other's eyes as silence filled the air, neither one speaking in fear of spoiling the moment. Finally Quentin broke the silence with words he was almost afraid to speak.

"Beth, I love you."

She let out a small cry as the floodgates opened. There was no stopping the tears that spilled down her cheeks, but for once they were tears of joy and not sorrow. Guilt washed over Quentin as he looked into her happy features, he shouldn't have given her hope when he knew there was none. They could never be together, he would return and she would be left with his old self once again.

But then perhaps it was better to live with a glimmer of hope then none at all.

"You do know that I mean it Beth. Don't you?"

She sniffled and wiped some tear away from her eyes trying to compose herself.

"Oh yes, I do Quentin. I've never heard you say anything to me before with such meaning. I don't know if I would have before… but I do now, I do now. I've always loved you Quentin and I always will."

They kissed long and passionately, both desperate for this night not to end.

"Play the waltz again Quentin… please, play it over and over. I never want it to stop."

Quentin smiled at her. "My dear, I always play it over and over… besides Edward may begin to wonder if we play it 400 times." He teased. She playfully shoved him towards the gramophone and laughed softly.

"Since when did you care what Edward thought!"

Quentin laughed with her, "Good point." He started the music over and embraced her again.

Then the pain hit….

'Oh no, how could I have forgotten!' Quentin thought frantically, gripping Beth a little tighter as the next wave of pain hit. A frighteningly familiar man's laughter echoed in his ears as his body was filled with a horrible pain, spreading like fire.

"Beth… get out… now!"

"Oh Quentin! We forgot about the moon… I'm – I'm sorry!"

"Don't be… sorry Beth. Please, please get out. Get… to somewhere safe!"

Quentin fell to the floor and moaned in pain as Beth reluctantly ran out of the room, tears blinding her eyes. All the while the haunting waltz continued to play but no matter how long or how many times it did so even it's melody couldn't bring salvation or comfort on this night, when the moon is full.

A last burst of sharp pain hit Quentin, starting in the pit of his stomach and spreading all the way up and down his body. Just when he thought he could take no more, it stopped as it always did just before he

blacked-out and saw no more until the next coming dawn, the waltz echoed in his mind until the last possible moment.

Blackness.

Quentin shot bolt up right. He felt physically drained as he tried to get up but something was holding him down. He became even more frantic; not thinking clearly Quentin tried to kick off what was pinning his legs down. Brambles, he was tangled up in the thick brambles in the woods around Collinsport. Breathing hard he tried to tear them away, he had to get out of them, he couldn't be found out! He kept tugging frantically at the brambles…

No, no they weren't brambles.

He wasn't in the Collinsport woods.

He was lying in his bed and was tangled, caught in the sheets that were draped over him. He let out a low, frustrated moan as he got his bearing's down. Why did he think he was in the woods? Why was he acting like this? Was something wrong with him?

More calm now he untangled himself from the sheets that had scared him so much only a moment before. He remembered his dream about Beth… and then the transformation. The man's laughter. That's why he had thought he was in the woods, he had remembered… dreamed something from his past. Only the dream was altered slightly.

Did he just dream the whole thing… or had he slipped back into the past again? Did he dream it or was he **really** there? He didn't know, he didn't know anything anymore. He was flooded by random thoughts. He missed Beth, wondered who was laughing at him – the voice was so familiar yet he couldn't quite place it. Why did he keep getting sucked into the past? He was healed now; there was no reason for it.

Or was there?

He shook his head in confusion, trying to force the thoughts and images out of him mind. He could swear that he still heard the waltz playing in his mind.

'Stop it, Stop it!' Quentin's mind screamed as the hotel room started to blur, but the music wouldn't stop. It just kept on and on and Quentin was sure that he was losing his mind.

"Shadows of the night,

Falling Silently,

Echo of the Past…."

A voice whispered in his ear… not just any voice, HIS voice. It sounded like it was coming from right next to him but no one was there. Quentin let out a cry and jumped out of the bed starting towards the door of his hotel room. He had to get out of here before he lost it.

He past the small table in his room and reached for the doorknob, breathing hard.

He stopped.

Slowly he turned around to the small table.

'No, no, no. I'm imagining it… I must be imagining it.' Quentin thought desperately.

There it was, sitting on the table looking exactly as it did in 1897.

His treasured red gramophone with delicate white flowers painted inside it's horn.

It was softly playing "Quentin's Theme"….

Chapter 23

They say time is the fire in which we burn.

Save yourself before there is no return.

***

Quentin stood stone still as his favorite melody filled the room, each string echoed inside the rooms four small walls. Louder and louder the music became until it seemed that the music wasn't playing at all anymore - only noise, a horrible and incessant noise.

"Stop it! Please, please stop it!" Quentin yelled out loud. He ran to the door and grasped the knob, pulling with all his strength.

It wouldn't open.

He pulled harder as the music continued to thunder in his ears – no, it wasn't music any longer.

It was laughter.

It had transformed into a man's laughter.

Quentin's heart jump into his throat as he panicked. He began to pound on the door, frantic. Frantic to escape.

"Please, somebody help me! Can't you hear?!? Open the door… anybody!" Quentin screamed as he continued to struggled with the door. Why wasn't anyone answering? Couldn't they hear him yelling? It was a small Inn after all. Where was Nick? Why couldn't he hear him when Nick was staying right next door? Why couldn't anyone hear him?

"Help me… PLEASE" He cried desperately. His attempts seemed to be futile however; he could hear no one coming to his aid from the other side of the door.

"How does it feel Quentin?"

Quentin whipped around; his back pressed against the door. The voice… it was a voice he hadn't heard in a long, long time.

It was a voice he would never forget.

Quentin let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. This has to be a dream, his mind said.

It's a dream, a dream, only a dream.

A dream, a dream, a dream Quentin's mind began to chant. But it didn't matter how many times his mind shouted it…. It wasn't a dream.

And Quentin knew it.

"How does it feel Quentin to be trapped inside a room with no escape? How does it feel to be in a place where no one can hear you scream?"

Quentin opened his eyes again. Anger taking place of fear. This man had ruined his life; he did what he had to do. He remembered all the things this evil creature had done and tried to do to him and his family.

"Why don't you come out and show yourself! I know who you are!" Quentin said maliciously.

Nothing happened. No one appeared.

No voice or laughter.

"Or are you to much of a coward?" Quentin continued knowing that it would piss him off.

No one called HIM a coward.

It worked. The air around him grew cold almost instantly. Slowly a form began to take shape and a face appeared… but it wasn't the face he was expecting.

Instead, a perfect mirror image of himself appeared before him.

"Sort of like seeing yourself step right out of a mirror isn't it Quentin, my boy."

"Petofi" Quentin spat, his hatred rising. "Why don't you get out of my body you perverted freak."

Petofi stared back at Quentin. Quentin couldn't believe that after all these years Count Petofi still had this sick obsession to possess his very being. Even in death he couldn't let it go.

Yes, Count Andreas Petofi had many powers in life and still had many powers… even in death it seemed.

"Why are you haunting me Petofi? After all these years what could you possibly want?"

"I thought you would have figured it out by now dear boy. I guess you haven't gotten any wiser in your old age after all. How disappointing." Petofi said in his calm demeanor as he tisk-tisked Quentin like a child.

Quentin hated that and Petofi knew it. Pulling himself together Quentin raised his head high, arched an eyebrow and gave Petofi a look that could melt steel. Still in Quentin's body, Count Petofi chuckled evilly. Quentin had noticed that he seemed to give a high pitched giggle rather than laugh, if the man wasn't a down right monster he might of even found it funny.

"Don't you remember your last night at Collinwood Quentin? I don't appreciate what you did to me."

"I don't appreciate what you did to me either Petofi!"

"I was going to save you."

"Save me for what!" Quentin laughed. "For your OWN evil purposes, you wanted my body so that you could go to the future!"

"True."

Quentin threw up his hands, exasperated. He had had enough; patience was never his best virtue. He looked over at his gramophone briefly, noting that the music had stopped.

"Petofi – why in gods name are you here?"

"Why… I want your life dear boy." He said cruelly as his figure began to morph into his true body, the real Count Petofi emerging. He had used Quentin's body as a disguise. Like a chameleon changed its color he seemed to be able to change his spirits appearance. He had made everyone think that it was Quentin Collins who was doing all the destruction at Collinwood – that it was Quentin Collins who was truly evil.

"Do you remember the night Quentin? The night you were meant to die – September 11th, 1897?" Petofi said, pausing and waiting for Quentin's answer.

"Of course, it's not something one is likely to forget Petofi."

"You changed history dear boy by forcing me to take your place. Dangerous thing to mess with time. Although I must admit you were quite clever my boy – locking me in your room in the West Wing. Sealing me inside, making it my tomb indefinitely. But you see, that's what made me think of using your image as a disguise until I…. Until I could seek my revenge that is. I knew eventually someone would open that locked room, it was only a matter of time."

Quentin cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I uh, don't suppose it would help to say 'I'm sorry' at this point would it?"

"You wouldn't mean it anyway Quentin."

Quentin couldn't help but smile. "How'd you guess that? Petofi, will you stop playing games with me and come to the point?"

"You have no patience my boy. Very well, tell me… what is the date today Quentin?"

Quentin thought for a long moment. He didn't know, he had been unconscious and in the hospital. When he got out he didn't really think about the days date. He couldn't remember whether Julia or Nick had mentioned it to him or not. Most likely they did and he wasn't listening. Quentin sighed softly.

"I – I don't know what the date is."

Petofi gave a brief smile as he pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall above Quentin's hotel room desk. From across the room he could see a date was circled in red marker. As he slowly approached the calendar the date came into focus.

He inhaled sharply and then looked over at the clock on the nightstand.

The glowing green numbers shined 1:45am.

He glanced at the calendar and then back at Petofi as it all started to sink in.

Today was September 10th .

Chapter 24

September 10th

The date had always sent a chill up his spine and with good reason.

It was the day he was meant to die.

The day he was supposed to die.

He had cheated death… but now Quentin wondered if death didn't have a few tricks of his own hidden up his long black sleeve.

Quentin turned back around and faced Petofi, he was afraid but wasn't going to show it. Fear is what fed Petofi's sick and twisted mind.

"What are you going to do?" He asked, doing the best he could to keep the anxiety he felt out of his voice.

Petofi smiled like a piranha about to bite into his next meal.

"You'll see soon enough dear boy. I don't want to spoil things; I know how you love surprises. However I will tell you this. Enjoy your last few hours Quentin, your last few precious hours."

Quentin shivered involuntarily as he watched Petofi fade away and leave him alone in the hotel room once again. He went over to the bed and sank into the mattress as he thought of what to do. The Collins family was gone now… to what destination he didn't know. He was hoping to discover that one-day along with the whereabouts of his cursed kindred cousin, Barnabas Collins.

Julia couldn't do much anymore, oh she was sharp, smart and alert as always. She could be very useful in helping Nick and himself rid Collinwood of the Ghost of Count Petofi but they simply didn't have enough time if Petofi was planning what he thought. It would be just like Petofi to want Quentin to not only die on the same day as he was supposed to… but the same time as well.

There was one good thing about that; it would give Quentin all day to formulate some sort of plan, he originally was to die at 11:45pm and that was most likely the time Petofi would make his move.

What Quentin didn't understand was how Petofi planned to do it. His portrait was safely tucked away in a place he was sure Petofi couldn't get it and he had already tried to kill Quentin the night of the full moon when the branch nearly crushed him to death. He hadn't succeeded then… but was he really trying or had he just wanted Quentin to suffer a little before making the final blows?

No doubt he had some plan that would nix the protective effects the portrait had over him. He didn't see anyway possible for Petofi to actually do it but if there was one thing he had learned back in 1897 it was not to underestimate an enemy, especially one as dangerous and powerful as Count Andreas Petofi.

Quentin sighed heavily. He knew what he needed to do… he just wasn't so sure he should do it.

*

Nick flipped through channel after channel finding absolutely nothing of interest to him. Of course the Collinsport Inn only offered 9 channels. That could have been the reason.

To make matters worse he didn't feel like lying around, his instincts told him to go and figure out this whole ghostly mystery. To find and bring LaCroix back to where they both came from. He also knew that instincts could lead him into trouble and this time they probably would. Nick really had no clue who or what he was dealing with, Julia Hoffman didn't seem to know either from what he had observed. Ever since Quentin had gained consciences she was secretly trying to probe information out of him. It didn't work though; Nick had the feeling that Quentin knew her well enough to know what she was doing.

No, only one person could help solve this mystery and that was Quentin Collins… and he might have already solved it himself.

*

Quentin got up from the bed, went over to the mirror in the bathroom and fixed himself up. He had decided what he needed to do.

What he HAD to do.

He was going to have to get Nick and Julia together and explain to them what he was planning. That wasn't the tricky part though, the tricky part was getting them to actually be a part of it.

After making his phone call to Julia, Quentin picked up the sport coat he had draped over the sofa and began to put it on as he made his way to the door.

As soon as his hand touched the knob music began to fill the room. Quentin turned around and immediately spotted the source of the music.

It was coming from his gramophone.

But it wasn't his theme, "Shadows of the Night" whose record forever had a home on his gramophone.

No, It was Mozart.

Mozart just happened to be Count Petofi's favorite artist in 1897.

Quentin slowly closed his eyes as he began to get dizzy. Count Petofi was no idiot; he was making the first move and Quentin hadn't even had a chance to put on his coat.

"What song is that… it sounds so familiar." Quentin whispered to himself, his voice like a child. Putting a hand to his temple he grasped the doorknob tighter to keep his balance.

The song shouldn't sound familiar, he thought to himself. He had never liked, nor listened to Mozart before. Still, the song tugged at his brain like it was playing tug-a-war with his memories.

Fantasy and Fugue in F Minor

The name of the song donned on Quentin just as his senses became numb and he crumpled to the floor.

*

Nick opened the door to his hotel room and was shocked to discover Ms. Julia Hoffman.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect you. What are you doing here Julia?"

Julia narrowed her eyes, "You mean Quentin isn't here yet? He called me and told me to meet him here. He said there was something important he had to tell us."

"No – I haven't seen or heard from Quentin tonight."

Julia quickly walked into Nick's room and shut the door.

"Quentin should have talked to you by now, he called me nearly a half hour ago. I better call his room and make sure he's all right."

Julia looked worried and that worried Nick. She didn't seem like the type to panic over nothing.

"Do you know what Quentin is planning to tell us?"

"Not exactly, but I'm positive it has something to do with this whole mess we are in. And further more, if he was planning on telling us who or what the ghost is… that is if he had found out – Well his safety and maybe even his life would be in terrible danger."

Julia picked up the phone and asked for Quentin's room, it seemed silly to call when it was right next door but if something **had** happened to Quentin then both her and Nick could walk straight into the ghosts' trap.

Ring……

Ring……

Ring……

Julia's brow furrowed and her face frowned deeper with each piercing ring.

Ring……

Ring……

Julia hung up and turned back towards Nick.

"No answer."

"Well of course there was no answer my dear doctor."

Nick and Julia jumped, startled by the voice behind them.

"Quentin! We didn't hear you come in, oh… thank goodness you are here! We were very worried about you." Julia told him as she sighed, relieved and happy to see that he was OK.

Quentin cocked an eyebrow as he swaggered over to the two of them.

"Well, Well. Isn't that just so touching." He said icily.

Confused by his tone Julia took a step back from him. "You- You know how much we care about you Quentin."

Quentin's mouth formed into a crooked and malicious grin and he began to chuckle. It was deep and throaty and sounded nothing like Quentin.

"Oh yes… I know you care a great deal for me." Quentin replied to Julia in a mocking tone.

Julia took in Quentin again, looking at him as if for the first time. Something was terribly wrong with him… that much was for certain. His tone and manner was completely different than it was earlier today when she had talked with him. Quentin wouldn't speak to her this way… no, she was sure of that.

Then she looked into his eyes and for the first time ever Quentin truly frightened her. An involuntary chill ran down her spine. His eyes weren't the clear sky blue she had always remembered. They were dark and cold – as if a thunderstorm was brewing inside them.

"I was thinking" Quentin continued as if nothing were wrong. "We should go back into Collinwood, I was wrong to make us stay away. I mean after all we aren't going to find your companion LaCroix, Nick if we don't return there soon… and the rest of the Collins family! We must return so that you are able to find out what truly happened to them."

His wording did not slip past Julia's ear… "so that YOU are able to find out…".

"You didn't think it was a good idea yesterday Quentin. I thought you had made a good point." Nick said, his voice didn't attempt to hide the suspicion he felt towards Quentin's sudden attitude change.

Quentin gave Nick a chilling smile before he replied.

"Obviously I wasn't thinking clearly, my boy." 


	5. Part 4

Chapter 25 

As your bony fingers close around me  
Long and spindly  
Death becomes me  
Heaven can you see what I see?  
~ Dream On, Depeche Mode {Exciter}

~*~

Julia and Nick exchanged confused and somewhat worried looks. Something was **not** right here, that was for sure.

"Quentin… I think that you were right. It's not a good idea for us to walk right into the ghost's trap."

Quentin looked over at Nick sharply, their eyes locking. A wry smile played out on Quentin's lips as he watched Nick squirm under his intense gaze.

"Are you afraid to enter the halls of Collinwood my boy? I would have thought that for one of your age and power, you could handle more than an average mortal could. What a pity that I seem to have over-estimated you."

"Quentin –" Nick started only to be interrupted by Julia. "This isn't Quentin, Nick. You know as well as I do that Quentin Collins would never speak to us this way."

Nick was completely lost and confused. He had no idea what Julia was talking about and Quentin's behavior made no sense either. "What--"

"Dear doctor," Quentin started smoothly, ignoring Nick completely. "I have always held a secret admiration for you. You're a realist my dear, always so quick and to the point. I like that, gives me more of a challenge."

"Why don't YOU get to the point? Who are you and what do you want?"

"You mean you haven't figured it out yet? Who else would have the power that I have? Come now doctor, even Quentin was able to put 2 & 2 together. You and Quentin have both surprised me, I would have thought that you would have guest my identity before he… but then I suppose I always have underestimated Quentin a little. To answer your question my dear, I am Count Andreas Petofi… of course."

Julia inhaled sharply. 'Of course, he should have been the first I suspected. Oh Julia you old fool!' she thought to herself 'This must have been what Quentin was going to tell Nick and me.'

"What have you done to Quentin?" She asked as her face took on her all too familiar 'no-nonsense' look that those around her knew only too well.

"I've put him back where he belongs dear doctor. Well… almost, you see he **will** be where he belongs at precisely 11:45pm tonight." Petofi, in Quentin's body said as he began to chuckle deviously.

"And where exactly do you think Quentin belongs?" Julia asked, she refused to be intimidated by this… this thing that claimed to me a human being.

"Why… in the grave of course." Petofi smiled cruelly.

"I won't let you do this to him Petofi!"

"You are completely powerless to stop me. Quentin thought he could defeat me, trick me… KILL me? Oh no, you see I can't simply let him get away with such a crime. HE was the one that was supposed to die on September 10th, and so he shall. Like he did the first time before you and Barnabas changed history. When his spirit is killed in the past then I will be free to have this rather appealing body… permanently."

Julia was furious with rage, she despised this evil creature just as Barnabas and poor Quentin did. She couldn't let him get away with this. If he did there was no telling what mayhem Petofi would and could cause in the present time.

"You won't get away with this Petofi! If Quentin dies in the past then his body will no longer exist now and you will have no body to occupy!"

"Dear doctor, you are wrong there. Quentin's spirit will die in the past but I will see to it that his body will not, you underestimate my powers still. That surprises me. You see… time is a complex puzzle with many layers and facets to it. It works in many mysterious ways… I don't believe anyone can comprehend it completely. Not even I. However **I** do know much more about time than you do doctor, or Quentin, or Nick OR even the ever-allusive LaCroix. One advantage to being dead is that one understands much more than in life and I had lots of time to learn." Petofi finished as he swaggers over to the clock sitting beside Nick's hotel room bed. The bright green light glowed 3:33am as he picked it up off the nightstand.

"Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock." Petofi taunted, his head moving right to left, right to left to accentuate his words. "Time is running out for Quentin Collins and there is nothing either of you can do about it. At approximately 11:45pm Quentin's fate will be sealed and I will have won. There is one thing you may not know about Quentin's death that I would like to tell you about, by the time you went back in time Barnabas Collins had already changed the past a great deal. His tragic encounter with Beth Chavez was not the way his death originally happened. Perhaps you already knew that? After all, in 1968 the children opened up his room in the West Wing and let HIS spirit out and free to haunt Collinwood and it's residence. The children, David and Amy, found his skeleton and buried it on the Collinwood grounds. It is apparent to me that he was trapped within his room and died there too. His death originally was much more painful and prolonged I believe than the way it was played out the second time, and so that will be the way he dies **this** time. After all your tinkering and playing with time I will set it straight once and for all."

Julia made an attempt for the door but Petofi easily intercepted her. "I don't think so dear doctor. I have a feeling I should keep an eye on both of you until midnight at least… then you two will be free to do what you wish. I don't think you can stop what is going to happen… but it's best not to underestimate ones enemies as I am sure you have learned by now."

"You may be able to stop her 'Petofi' but you cannot stop me from leaving here!" Nick told him matter-of-factly.

"Oh really? And why do you think that? Is it because you are a Vampire and 'possess' certain powers?"

Nick was taken aback momentarily, but only momentarily. "Yes."

Petofi gave Nick a half-smile and then asked, "Is good memory not a part of your powers Nick?"

"I remember everything!" Nick told him angrily, having had enough of this 'man'.

"Then what do you remember about that clover shaped mark on your hand?"

Nick looked down at his hand, he had completely forgotten about the mark the ghost had left the night Quentin was crushed by the tree branch. It was still there; it should have disappeared by now.

Petofi burst out laughing. "Yes – as long as you wear that mark on your hand you will lack the vampires natural 'talents'. Don't believe me? Then try to leave using your powers."

Nick took a deep breath. It couldn't be true. Could it? Concentrating he made his vampiric attempt for the door – only one thing was missing.

His vampiric speed.

"Well, now that we've cleared the air and you both know your position in this matter we can all relax, have a drink and watch the time tick by minute by minute."

~*~

September 10th, 1897

3:45am

Charity stared at the ceiling. She just couldn't sleep. She hadn't slept since she found out the terrible secret Quentin Collins held. How could she have ever fallen in love with Quentin? He was evil, a murderer and he wasn't even human! What a failure she was too her father, the Rev. Gregory Trask. She was a horrible judge of character, how could she not have seen through Quentin's disguise? Acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush she had flirted with him and begged for his attention. Totally oblivious to the fact that he was a murderer, a creature of the supernatural… a werewolf!

She never wanted to see Quentin Collins again. Ever.

She rolled over on her side, then to the other. It was no use; she couldn't fall asleep tonight with all this on her mind. She knew she couldn't keep on like this, she would have to tell someone eventually. If she didn't she was certain she would go mad.

Getting out of bed she put on her robe and slippers, it was drafty and cold in Collinwood especially now that the winter season was approaching.

Once downstairs she was surprised to find that she apparently wasn't the only one up tonight. Dim light came from the under the closed drawing room doors. Maybe it was better that someone else was up, she needed the company. Except… what if it was Quentin? The thought of encountering him alone at this early hour when the rest of the family was asleep made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

She knocked on the doors two times, softly.

"Come in?" a familiar voice from the opposite side of the door called expectantly. Charity smiled, opening the drawing room doors. "Oh, I'm so glad it's you."

*

Quentin opened his eyes slowly waiting for them to come into focus. He felt tired, groggy and had a splitting headache. What had happened? He was lying down in bed, but he didn't remember doing so.

"Ohhh" Quentin moaned to himself, "I must have had too much to drink."

As his mind cleared he began to remember. The ghost, the visions, the music…. Petofi!

Quentin leaped out of bed, what was he doing in bed?! He had to meet with Julia and Nick and decide on a course of action before time ran out for him. Quentin froze looking around as if for the first time.

Something wasn't right here. He was in his room.

But not the hotel room.

He was in his **old** room.

"Oh no." He looked down at himself. He was dressed in his charcoal blue frock coat and pants. He looked over at himself in the mirror as his old self starred back, mutton-chops and all.

"Well Quentin 'ol boy this is getting to be the norm for you isn't it?" he said to his reflection in the mirror.

Quentin sighed heavily trying to keep calm. He was in deep now… and he needed a glass of brandy. Maybe two or three glasses of brandy.

*

"Charity, I know that this may not be the best time to bring this up but about your future suitor…"

Charity's eyes widened in fear, she had been dreading this moment since the last time her father had brought it up. "Father… please, you **can't** make me marry Quentin Collins. You can't!"

"Charity! I am tired of your sniveling; it is very necessary that you marry him… and immediately!"

"No, I-"

"You are to do what your father tells you Charity." Rev. Trask said sternly, having enough of her whining and complaining. "Divine providence has sent us here for a reason. Remember your mission, the mission that I have set for you. You and you alone can save Quentin Collins."

"No one can save Quentin Collins!" Charity cried, breaking down. She couldn't handle it anymore. All the secrets, the lies… it had to stop here and now. She would never marry Quentin, for anything or anyone. Not even for her father. She had to tell him the truth, if she did she would not have to marry him… he would see to it that Quentin was put away, she was sure of it!

"Father, you don't know Quentin. But I do, I do and I will never marry him." She said firmly, renewed by her decision to tell her father everything.

"What are you talking about? What don't I know Charity?" Reverend Trask asked suspiciously.

Charity swallowed hard and wiped the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks. She had to do this, if not for anything else but her own sanity. She had kept quiet far too long.

"His secret… Quentin's horrible and vile secret!"

Chapter 26

Trask's eyes widened.

"Secret? Charity my dear," he said calmly as he gently grabbed hold of Charity's arm and led her to the sofa in the drawing room. His curiosity aroused, "Take a deep breath and tell me all about Quentin's … terrible secret."

Charity sat down on the couch taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, trying to get a hold of herself. She had to tell her father about Quentin's unbelievable secret sanely; otherwise he was likely to think she was a few eggs short of an omelet.

"I know this will sound unbelievable father but you must believe me, you must! I… I have to tell someone or I think I will go out of my mind!"

*

Quentin grabbed a handful of his clothes out of the dresser and threw them into his tiny brown, worn out suitcase. It was worn out with reason; it had been everywhere from Collinsport to England, from France to Egypt and back again.

Going over to his dresser he opened up the right bottom shelf and took out his passport and the little money that he had managed to save. There was only one way that Quentin could think of to stop his destiny with death and that was to leave Collinwood and Collinsport far behind.

*

Charity looked down at her hands, they were shaking uncontrollably as tears ran down her face. Wiping the tears away from her dark blue eyes she continued.

"I'll … uh, I-I guess I better start at the beginning. A few weeks ago I had a dream about Quentin, at the end of it Magda appeared and told me to stay away from him and to forget him. She also said that she knew why Quentin acts the way he does… the gypsy said she knew Quentin's secret. When I awoke I was confused and frightened and decided to go and talk to Magda. So I got dressed and left Collinwood on my way to the old house, it must have been around 7:00 or 7:30am."

Charity paused and looked up at her father who was listening intently.

"Go on my dear, what happened then?" Trask asked, eager to hear anything that might help him dispose of Quentin - a constant thorn in Trask's side.

"Well, I was walking in the woods. On the path that leads to the old house when I heard a moan. It was Quentin, he was lying just off the path. His clothes were all torn and bloody and Quentin was out cold. I thought he had been attacked and got up to get help… that's when I saw the woman lying only a few feet away from him. She was hurt terribly; her face had been clawed as if by a wild animal. It was Tessie Kincade father, the woman Jamison had run across in the woods and came to you to go get her.

When I looked back at Quentin I noticed that he had a piece of Tessie's dress in his hand. That's when I figured it out father…. Quentin, Quentin is the animal! He's the one everyone's been hunting on every full moon! He was the one who killed Dorcas, Tessie and lord knows who else! Father, you must do something, he is a murderer!"

"This is beyond belief! Charity, why didn't you come to me with this right away?!" Trask asked incredulously.

"Please forgive me father! But Quentin threatened me with my life; I was so scared… I know I should have came to you father but-but I was afraid he would kill me!" Charity sobbed as tears ran down her cheeks, ashamed of herself and her lack of courage.

"I am very glad you have come to me with this Charity. Quentin must be dealt with immediately, if everything you said is true than he is a disciple of the devil! He is a creature of the supernatural, a maniacal murderer!" Trask smiled inwardly, this would finish Quentin for good and then no one would stand in his way from taking over Collinwood.

"We must tell Edward at once!" Trask said as he looked down at the sobbing Charity. A cruel smile crossed over his lips. He couldn't wait to see Edward's face when he came to him with this news about his brother.

"Charity, I want you to stop that sniveling and find Edward at once! I believe he is in his bedroom, it is early yet and it is likely he is still asleep."

"But fath-"

"No 'buts' Charity! Do as I tell you immediately!"

Charity stood up quickly, shocked by her father's tone. Hurriedly she exited the drawing room muttering "Yes, father" as she passed him in search of Edward.

Trask stood in the drawing room, thoroughly pleased with the early morning's developments. No – Quentin Collins would never be a problem again.

*

Quentin opened his closet and searched for anything else he wanted to bring with him. He caught a glimpse of his I-Ching wands wrapped in cloth and grabbed the bundle and the mysticism book underneath them, placing them in his suitcase. He pulled out his old trunk and opened it. It contained his past; his childhood… he would have to leave most of it behind but there was one thing that he had to bring with him. Searching through the trunk he pulled out albums, papers, toys and clothing before he finally found what he wanted. It was an old portrait of his mother and father, painted before he was born. It was small, 6x4 inches but it meant a lot to him. After placing the picture in his suitcase he began to put things back into the trunk, pausing when he grabbed an old dress. He laid it out on the floor and realized it was the same dress his mother was wearing in the portrait. It was all white with a flowery design embroidered onto the fabric and the skirt would reached all the way to the floor, it had puffy long sleeves and a thick plain fabric belt came with it and made the dress fit snuggle around a woman's waist.

'Beth would look lovely in this.' Quentin thought to himself. 'Beth…'.

He couldn't just leave Beth behind… she was the one woman he truly loved and the one woman who truly loved him in return. He would have to take her with him… he just hoped she could pack fast.

Quentin ran out of his room heading towards the servant's quarters, taking the back way… dress in hand.

*

Edward yawned sleepily as he slowly made his way down the foyer stairs, fixing his tie at the same time. He didn't appreciated being aroused out of a sound slumber by Charity Trask at 2:30 in the morning. As Edward entered the drawing room he looked sternly at the Reverend Gregory Trask with Charity standing right beside him.

"This had better be something earth shattering Reverend." He said in a huff, his dislike for Trask seeping into his words.

"Oh it is Edward. Believe me… it is."

"Well" Edward said, waiting for someone to explain. "Would someone kindly tell me what this is all about and why it couldn't wait till morning?"

"It's about your brother Quentin and the secret he has been hiding from you for quite some time now."

*

"Oh Quentin, this is a gorgeous dress! I've never owned such an expensive and lovely dress before!" Beth said happily as she held up the dress, admiring it. "But I don't understand why you're hear at this hour of the night, it's not just because you wanted to give me this dress is it? By the way, where did you get this dress Quentin… the material must be imported, I've never seen anything like this at any shops in Collinsport."

"I was going through one of my old trunks, it had all sorts of things from my childhood in it. I found this dress inside it. It was my mother's… I want you to have it Beth. I think you would look stunning in it, it looks like it will fit you… doesn't it?"

"Quentin! This must mean a lot to you, I couldn't possibly accept it!" Beth told him, reluctantly handing back the dress.

"No, no, no. It's yours; I want you to have it. Besides…" Quentin said as he wrapped his arms around Beth lovingly, "I'm not going to wear it.".

They both laughed lightly as they kissed each other passionately.

"This is the nicest gift anyone has ever given me Quentin… thank you."

Quentin smiled; he was glad he made her happy with the present. He remembered how he treated her the first time and wouldn't make the same mistake again. "Go put it on Beth, let's see how you look in it."

*

Edward sat on the drawing room couch in shocked silence.

"Think about it Edward," Trask said, enjoying ever minute of this conversation. "It makes perfect sense. Do you ever remember seeing Quentin recently on a night where there is a full moon? Did he ever, once help all of us go searching for the mysterious animal? Remember how strange he's been acting lately? He's changed a great deal within the last few months, has he not?"

"I-I just can't believe it. My own brother, a werewolf!" Edward thought of how frantic Quentin was a few months ago… he was convinced that damn gypsy Magda was going to set some kind of curse on him. Edward didn't believe in any of it then… but was it possible? Did Magda actually do what she had threatened after Quentin accidentally killed Jenny, his wife and Magda's sister?

"Edward, something must be done about Quentin right away – today. He's already killed and he will kill again unless we stop him!"

"But what can we do?" Edward asked, still in shock. He didn't know how anyone could stop what's been happening.

"Edward, surely you know what must be done. Can't you see? Quentin's just like Barnabas Collins! An evil unnatural creature! He was even friends with Barnabas, I suspect he may have helped Barnabas kill Carl."

"What? What makes you think that Reverend?"

"Poor Carl, rest his soul told me that he had shown Barnabas' hidden coffin in the mausoleum to Quentin before he told me. I suspect now that there may have been more too it."

Edward got up from the couch, regaining his composure. He knew what had to be done. He looked at Trask with a new sense of mission, "We have no choice but to dispose of Quentin – forever."

Chapter 27

"Beth, you look beautiful. It's like the dress was made for you." Quentin said to Beth lovingly.

"Thank you so much Quentin, I love it and it fits perfectly! She went over to the mirror and looked at herself in the dress, it was like looking at another person. Beth ran her hand across the soft fabric and smiled.

"Quentin, why did you really come here this morning?" Beth asked seriously.

"Beth, how would you like to go on a trip with me?"

"A trip? To where?"

"Anywhere you'd like to go! Just you and me, what do you say Beth?"

"What brought this on Quentin? I've been trying to get you to go away with me for a month and you had your heart set against it. And what about your baby daughter Lenore?"

"Beth, I can't explain but I have to leave today and I want you with me. I'm not talking about forever and Lenore would be much safer here than with me… at least while I am still cursed. Who knows, maybe we'll find a cure while we're away. Please Beth, say you'll come with me."

Beth looked at Quentin for a few moments before answering. "You really want me to come with you, don't you?"

"Yes Beth, I do."

"Quentin, the last time you did this you were in trouble. Tell me honestly Quentin, are you in danger? Is that why you want to leave today."

"You're right Beth, I am in danger and the sooner we leave the safer we'll both be."

Beth sighed, "OK Quentin, I'll go with you. I had better get ready to go then."

Quentin smiled happy and relieved. He kissed Beth quickly, "I'm so glad you're going with me my darling! Hurry and get packed, I'm going to my room and make sure I've finished my packing too. Meet me there Beth, please hurry."

Beth watched Quentin leave her room worriedly. She wondered what kind of trouble he could be in this time. Quentin seemed to attract trouble like a moth is attracted to a flame. Following him was perhaps the stupidest thing she could do. She knew what he was like and how he could charm her into doing almost anything. Sometimes she doubted her own sanity. Beth walked over to her bed and pulled her suitcase out from underneath it. She had better hurry up and pack.

*

"Trask, I'm not sure I can go through with this plan of yours. I may dislike Quentin to put it mildly, but what you've suggested… well it's just plain cruel." Edward said to the Reverend Trask. "I'm not sure I can go through with it."

"Edward, he cannot be allowed to continue this cursed existence. He is a danger to everyone living at Collinwood and Collinsport!"

Edward took a deep breath, he wished Judith wasn't at the sanitarium. He always had found it hard to make important family decisions without consulting her first. "You're right of course Reverend. I'll tell the servants to start preparing the necessary things right away."

*

Quentin went back to his room and poured himself a brandy, leaving the door open for Beth. He wondered…would something as simple as leaving Collinwood and Collinsport stop his death? It was worth a try but deep down inside he knew that his little plan would never work, not in a million years. It would never be this easy, especially for him.

He took a deep gulp of brandy and enjoyed its burning sensation as the liquid slowly went down his throat. He hoped Beth would come soon, with each second he stayed his chances of defeating his destiny became smaller and smaller. He reached over to his gramophone to turn it on when the sound of his door slamming shut stopped him in his tracks. Looking over towards the door he heard the sound of a key turning in it and then heavy footsteps walking away as quickly as they came.

Leaping from his chair Quentin raced over to the door and tried to turn the knob only to feel it stop half way. The door was locked from the outside.

"Hey! Hey! What the hell is going on here?!" Quentin yelled as he began to pound on the door with his fists. "Why have you locked me in?! Hey! Let me out of here!".

Quentin's stomach felt like lead, he had been too slow in leaving Collinwood.

No one was going to open the door.

5:03am…

Quentin's death had begun.

*

Startled, Beth spun around quickly and was surprised to find Edward in her doorway.

"Beth, you're to come with me into town immediately."

"Mr. Collins, I—"

"You will do as I tell you Beth, I don't want to hear another word leave your lips."

*

Quentin stopped pounding on his door - it was no use. Plus his fists began to hurt. No one lived in the West Wing but him and if someone was really serious about locking Quentin in his room then he doubted if that someone would let anyone wander around the wing and give them a chance to hear Quentin's pathetic cries for help.

He had to think and he had to think fast. He looked down at the knob on his door. Yes, the lock could be picked from the inside… and he was quite good at picking locks.

Looking around his room for something he remembered the stickpin that was in his roll top desk and retrieved it quickly. Returning to his door he kneeled down and began to work on the lock in his expert fashion.

Thud….Thud.

Quentin dropped the stickpin and fell back at the sound of the thuds coming from the other side of the door. Listening a few more thuds followed… it sounded like… hammering. Someone was hammering something outside his door. Anger replacing his panic Quentin shouted out at his mysterious visitor,

"Who are you!? Are you afraid to say something? Answer me!"

"Why Quentin, I don't think you're in any position to be giving demands."

Quentin's eyes narrowed into slits as his anger flared.

"Well I should have known it would be you Trask!"

"Don't bother to pick the lock on your door Quentin, I've just added a dead bolt to make sure you stay in there for as long as I wish you too. You won't be getting out of there any time soon."

"Damn you to hell Trask! Why are you doing this to me?!"

"I know the foul and evil creature that you are Quentin Collins and it is my duty to the almighty to destroy you forever!"

Quentin laughed, sharp and bitter. "Who do you think you're fooling? Do you really honestly believe you are doing god's work? You're nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing! But one day Trask, one day you'll pay. Whether I am there to see it or not… you'll pay."

"Say what you will about me Mr. Collins but I at least I'm human…"

"That, dear Trask, is debatable."

"…but you, you're a lycanthrope… a werewolf! You've managed to keep your vile secret well Quentin, but no longer. I have told Edward everything, it might interest you to know that he agreed to this whole plot that's being played out now."

Quentin took one step away from the door. Silent… Dumbstruck.

It wasn't possible… it couldn't be.

His brother Edward would never agree to something so cruel… never!

"You're lying!" Quentin said forcefully but hurt at the same time. His brother couldn't hate him that much, could he? Even if he knew the truth… Quentin was his brother, his flesh and blood.

"Indeed I am not Quentin. He might even dispose of you himself." Trask said smugly. Abruptly he turned around and headed back down the hall leaving Quentin broken by the realization of his brother's hate for him.

His brother would never kill him though, that much Quentin was sure of.

Quentin took a few deep breaths, slow and deliberate. Clearing his mind he tried to think clearly… and surely enough a plan began to formulate in his mind. It was dangerous and the chances were slim but it might just work. Maybe it wouldn't save his life but it might help finally clear up the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the Collins family.

And it might just help him bring down Count Petofi once and for all.

Quentin opened his suitcase and got out his I-Ching wands.

"Well, I guess I didn't need to pack after all." Quentin said to himself wryly as he put his suitcase on the floor and cleared off the small table in the middle of his room and sat down.

Slowly he unwrapped the powerful wands, what he was planning could very well destroy him but at this point he didn't have much to lose. He was going to die anyway if things continued to progress as they were now and there was no time to waste.

Closing his eyes he hesitated only a moment before throwing the wands on the table. After forming the hexagram Quentin looked it up in the book.

It was the hexagram of infinity.

Quentin gave a small smile. It almost seemed fitting. Quietly he read the description of the chosen hexagram out loud.

"Those guided by the hexagram of infinity will not be bound by time or place. But beware of time as it can be your greatest ally or your worst foe. A strong mind will conquer and infinite knowledge may be thy power.

Infinite space will be within your reach as the North Star shows you your path."

Quentin set down the book, his palms sweaty. He knew what he was about to do could prove to be a disaster but he had no other choice. He reached over to his glass of brandy and downed the rest in one swallow. No sense in letting good brandy go to waste if he should never return.

Setting both hands on the table Quentin closed his eyes and began to concentrate… trying to reach the door that entered into the realm of infinity's hexagram.

Chapter 28

Closing his eyes Quentin concentrated hard, clearing his mind of all things but the door that he wanted to enter… the door that would bring him success or death.

At first he saw nothing but darkness… but ever so slowly a door began to take shape in front of him, made of solid steal with the hexagram of infinity hanging on it. The appearance was foreboding and caused him to hesitate.

'Anything could be beyond that door' Quentin thought, and suddenly he wasn't so sure if this was such a good idea.

*

Beth sat in Mrs. Fillmore's living room, she had no idea why Edward had brought her here but something was definitely going on that she didn't know about. Edward had behaved so strangely, lying to her about going to town and then practically dragging her out of the house only to dump her at Mrs. Fillmore's cottage with no explanation, leaving immediately after dropping Beth off. Quentin was going to wonder what had happened to her, she just prayed he didn't leave town thinking she had changed her mind about going with him.

"Would you like a cup of tea dear?" Mrs. Fillmore asked sweetly bringing Beth back from her thoughts.

Mrs. Fillmore was a lovely old lady who loved children but was never able to have one of her own. Beth trusted her implicitly and had no qualms with the woman taking care of Quentin and Jenny's baby daughter Lenore.

"Yes please." Beth said smiling as she watch the old lady retreat to her kitchen.

Beth thought of the last time Quentin visited his daughter, only two days before. She knew Quentin loved his daughter and would have done anything in his power to care for her himself if he could. Quentin's eyes lit up every time he looked at Lenore and he never tired of her. Beth smiled sadly, many would doubt it but she knew Quentin would be a wonderful father. Better than Edward ever was or Judith ever would be. He had the heart for it, no matter how much he tried to cover it up with his false callousness.

Beth had never forgiven herself for keeping Quentin's children a secret from him, when he found out about his son's death he was far more broken and hurt by the news than she had ever imagined, almost destroying him. It was her fault he was never able to lay eyes on his baby son when he was alive, Quentin never said anything to Beth about it but Beth new it to be true. She prayed that he would at least be able to raise his daughter, if only he could find the cure to his terrible curse… she was sure they could all start over and live a happy life together.

*

The entrance appeared before Quentin, it's metal exterior taunting him, begging him to come closer.

'This is what you wanted Quentin' a voiced seemed to whisper in his ear. The voice, dry and scratchy like sandpaper… grating at his nerves.

'closer… closer… come closer… closer… closer' the voice said as it continued it's mantra pulling, tugging, pleading Quentin to open the foreboding door and enter it's dangerous and unknown realm.

'closer… come closer… closer' it continued.

Quentin took a deep breath.

Held it.

Exhaled.

Did it again.

'Open the door, it's what you want to do, it's what you're going to do…' the irritating voice repeated. Over and over and over like an old scratched up record. It echoed through Quentin's mind like a scream would inside a cave… retreating into the deepest darkest depths only to come back again.

'Open the door, open, open, open!' it continued, growing impatient and more and more agitated with each second Quentin continued his procrastination. 'Open, open, open!"

Quentin just couldn't take the voices' verbal assault any longer; he took a tentative step towards the door with rubbery legs and sweaty palms.

Another step.

Then another.

The door right before him now, so close. So close he could reach out and touch it, push it open and reveal what lies beyond it… so he did.

The cold steal greeted his fingertips like ice. Its sensation spreading up his arm and down his spine. The heavy door swung open easily, perhaps too easily, as if a strong breeze had caught it as it opened.

But there was no breeze, of course.

Quentin held his breath, closed his eyes (as if it would make the difficult task any easier).

A test of his bravery, Quentin lifted up his lead-heavy leg… and stepped through the door, the other leg following suit, stepping into the world of the unknown.

*

Julia looked over at an anxious Nick, they're panic increasing with each minute that ticked past. With Nick's powers neutralized by Petofi and Julia with no ideas they were at Petofi's mercy. That was something neither of them could stand.

Petofi, in Quentin's body smiled deviously and took another sip of his brandy.

"Are you two sure you don't want some brandy? Nick… you're awfully pale, you sure you don't want anything to drink?" He smiled wider and then continued, "Oh yes, that's right. You probably want something a little thicker. I'm sorry my boy, but I tend to like my adversaries weak. I intend to keep you that way until after it's all over."

Nick shot Petofi a look of pure hatred, "I'll be just fine Petofi." Inwardly though he was not so sure, it had been quite some time since he last fed and his stomach was beginning to get the all to familiar burning that came whenever he deprived himself of what he needed.

*

The air was as thick as syrup, barely seeping into Quentin's lungs. Ever so slowly he opened his eyes, afraid at what he is going to find. It was then that he saw the cause for his labored breathing, mist. It was thick, like a fog. Steamy mist that seemed to rise from the floor, if he could have seen the floor…he couldn't possibly see more than 2 or 3 feet away from where he was standing.

The mist seemed to pull apart like moist taffy, only to drift back together again. Over and over and over the process repeated as if the steamy mist was a living, breathing thing. As if it was capable of thinking, feeling, seeing, and multiplying.

Quentin shuddered at the prospect.

Then, slowly the figure appeared again… directly in front of him, a mere two feet away. Same as before. Made from the mist that surrounded them both. It was only a form with no features… no face.

It pointed to Quentin with what Quentin imagined to be a long, slender finger.

"This Quentin Collins, will be your last chance." It said, its voice as thick as the foggy mist that hung around them.

"Your last chance to set things right Quentin Collins and send Count Andreas Petofi to the hell in which he truly belongs. But before you continue remember two things. One, the effects of the I-Ching trance, whatever they may be, will only be temporary. Waste no time, do what you must… discover what became of your family that disappeared in 1969, for that is the key and will help you later, how I cannot say. Second, keep in mind that no matter how hopeless things will seem for you in the future it will not be to late to set history, present and future right again… if you remain true to yourself and remember who you are. Don't let tragedy, deceit and betrayal change you." The figure finished, starting to fade back into the mist from which it originated. As the final particles of its shape faded away it bid Quentin a friendly farewell as it whispered "The best of luck to you, Quentin Collins."

Once the figure disappeared the mist seemed to follow it, like it was being sucked into a black hole that the figure created when it left. Then, nothing was left… no mist and no figure.

Nothing at all.

*

"Please, call me… Quentin." Petofi said devilishly to Julia and Nick.

"Never!" Julia spat, her hatred bubbling over. "I don't know how Petofi, but you'll be stopped. I know it."

Petofi laughed with the look of pure glee on his face. "Oh, I doubt that very much my dear Julia. In a manner of speaking, I've already won!"

Petofi started to get up to fill his glass with more brandy when he suddenly wavered badly and fell back into his seat with a thud. Julia and Nick exchanged surprised looks, Petofi jolted once… twice, then closed his eyes and laid still.

Wasting no time Julia leaped to her feet and started for the door as a scream pierced the room's silence. Julia stopped dead in her tracks as both her and Nick watched as Petofi slowly opened his eyes. He moaned softly as he brought his hand up to his head. Looking around, his vision blurred as he asked weakly

"Where am I…"

"What the matter Petofi, you have one too many glasses of brandy?" Julia shot back sarcastically.

"Pet-Petofi? What are you talking about Julia…." His eyes opened wider as he frantically looked around the room.

"Julia…. Julia! I made it! I'm back in the present! Oh, thank god!"

Nick and Julia exchanged suspicious looks. Nick took a cautious step forward before speaking,

"Quentin? Is it really you again?"

Quentin sighed heavily with relief and offered Nick a large smile. "Yes, it's me Nick."

"Wait a minute, how do we know it's not just another one of Petofi's devious plots." Julia asked him suspiciously, she wasn't going to be fooled easily.

"Just ask me a question only Quentin would know."

"OK" Julia said, thinking. "How did you meet both of us, the first time."

"I met you Julia back in my time, 1897. When you came back in time to warn Barnabas about the date of my death, after I survived I came to the rectory where Barnabas was keeping you. You came out of your shock and told Barnabas and me that David was alive and that my ghost had disappeared. As for Nick, I met him at Collinwood… he was being chased by Petofi's ghost."

"Thank God it's you Quentin!" Julia said with a sigh of relief, obviously convinced with Quentin's evidence. Nick walked up to Quentin and gave him a playful slap on the back as he smiled and said "It's nice to have you back ol' man!"

Quentin smiled lightly at his friends but the figures warning was like a siren in his ears. 'The effects of the I-Ching trance are only temporary, waste no time.'

Quentin frowned at the thought. He needed to figure out what he is going to do, there was no telling how much time he was going to have here in the present before the I-Ching trace wore off… or before Petofi made his move to reclaim his 'new' body.

"Nick, Julia… I don't have much time here; at least I don't think I do. We have to figure out a way for you two to bring me back to the present if or when I get forced back to 1897."

Julia and Nick exchanged confused and worried looks. "You mean you haven't defeated Petofi?" Julia asked.

"No, I don't think so. It would never be this easy, and if my hunch is correct then I'm only in temporary control of my body. I'm going to need your guys' help if any of us are ever going to defeat Petofi."

Nick looked up at Quentin hopefully. "I hope that means you have something in mind 'cause I'm fresh out of any ideas that would be even remotely helpful at this point."

Quentin looked over at his two friends, a gleam in his eye and a mischievous smile on his lips.

"Indeed I do."

Chapter 29

Quentin walked over to the window, it must have been daytime he surmised since the blinds and curtains were drawn shut for Nick.

"Since I don't know how long I'm going to be here in the present you two may have to do this alone. If I can help you I will, of course, but I'm going to write down in detail what I need you guys to do so that if the occasion calls for it, you can do this without me." Quentin said as he searched the room until he came up with a pad of paper and a pen.

"Just what do you have in mind Quentin?" Nick asked as he watched Quentin hurriedly write down instructions on the pad of paper.

"We can't destroy Petofi alone, we need more help…. So tonight at midnight we're going to summon an old ally of mine, one who helped Barnabas, Julia and I battle Petofi in the past." Quentin stopped writing for a moment as he met Nick & Julia's confused looks.

"We are going to summon a witch… and her name is Angelique."

"Angelique! Quentin, you must be completely out of your mind! You know you can't trust her." Julia all but shouted, totally against the idea.

Quentin had a feeling she would be.

"Who's Angelique?" Nick interjected, completely lost which seemed to be becoming all too common for him here in this quaint little Maine town called Collinsport.

"Nick – Julia or myself can fill you in later."

"Quentin, we shouldn't-" Julia started only to be interrupted by Quentin.

"Julia, I of all people know exactly what Angelique is like, probably more than you do. I **also** know the powers she possesses and we need them very badly right now. You two are going to have to have help if you want any chance of bringing me back to the present permanently and you know it. To defeat Petofi we are going to need all four of us battling him together."

"What makes you think she'll help us?"

"Come on Julia, you know as well as I do that Angelique detests Petofi as much as you and I do. I believe she would side with practically anyone to defeat that _man_. Besides, she and I parted on friendly terms with no hard feelings so there is no reason to think that Angelique would turn on us now…" and finished playfully, "in our hour of need."

Julia sighed, "I still don't think it's a good idea Quentin, she is completely unpredictable."

"Yes Julia and you worked with her to help bring back Barnabas in 1897 as I recall… I'm not going to fight with you about this. I don't have the time and we are wasting precious seconds. You are going to have to trust me, both of you. Otherwise we will lose this battle and I for one don't like the idea of being dead." Quentin said getting impatient and frustrated. Nick and Julia could see that the stress of everything was getting to him and they couldn't blame him. His whole life, past, present and future were on the line.

"Both of you promise me that you will carry out **all** of my instructions here whether you agree with them or not… please."

Nick and Julia looked at each other briefly and nodded their heads in agreement.

"We promise Quentin." Nick said solemnly.

Quentin smiled slightly, "good, good…" he said almost to himself, visibly relieved. He handed Julia the note pad with his instructions. "I'm going to Collinwood, there is something that I have to do and I have to do it alone. If I don't return by 11:45pm I think you can assume that something has happened and I want you to start the ceremony to summon Angelique without me. When I do return, no matter what time, I want you two to take the same precautions you did before to make sure that I'm me and not Petofi back in my body. I'm just hoping Angelique can be summoned before Petofi repossesses my body again."

"What if he returns before we have a chance to summon her?" Nick asks Quentin, dreading the answer.

"Then I'm afraid that all hope is gone." Quentin answers him with a tinge of despair in his voice. "I'll do my best to see that is doesn't happen though."

Quentin headed over to the hotel room door. "Quentin, what are you going to do at Collinwood?" Julia asks curiously.

"I'm going to find out what happened to the Collins family once and for all." Opening the door he looks back at his two friends one last time before leaving. "I dunno what I would do without you guys!" Quentin said lightly as he closed the door behind him. He couldn't help but wonder if this was going to be the last time he would ever see them again.

"Well I suppose I'm going to need my strength for the long day and night ahead. I'm going to go get a 'drink' if you know what I mean." Nick said to Julia.

Julia sat down on the edge of the bed, her face betraying nothing now. She was worried, no, more than that… she was terribly scared. She and Quentin had become good friends back when she was 1897 with Barnabas. She felt so sorry for him then, as she felt sorry for him now. A normal life was as foreign to Quentin as the depths of the ocean were for most people. She wondered if he would ever get the chance to try and have one.

*

1897

"Beth dear, I'm going into town for a while. Would you mind watching Lenore for me while I am gone?" Mrs. Fillmore asked Beth as she was heading out the door.

Beth could hardly say no. "Certainly Mrs. Fillmore."

"Thank you dear, I won't be gone for more than a couple hours."

After she left, Beth looked over at the clock which hung on the far living room wall.

5:10pm.

Had Quentin left Collinsport and her far behind?

No. Beth just couldn't believe that, he had wanted her to go with him far too much for him to just up and leave and she knew Quentin was the type of person who could never be alone. No, he wouldn't leave her… he couldn't have…

Could he?

*

The Present

The clouds hung oppressively low as if to turn day into night. Quentin stood motionless just outside the gates of the once great estate – Collinwood. Once a mansion of great beauty, it stood up on a hill that stood higher than the rest of Collinsport, as a monument to the Collins family's wealth and power. But did this impressive mansion ever stand for happiness?

No.

What was the old saying? Money can't buy happiness? Well, where Collinwood was concerned that was certainly true.

Quentin couldn't see the beauty in it anymore.

  
Did he ever?

The mansion loomed before him empty and near ruins and depressed his very soul. If he still had one, Quentin thought gloomily. Maybe even with all its splendor, empty was the way the Collins Mansion belonged.

Stepping through the giant iron gates Quentin started up the path to Collinwood, almost impossible to follow now as the forest tried desperately to close the estate off from the rest of the world and Quentin couldn't help but think…'Nice try'.

As he walked towards the mansion Quentin noticed the weather fitted his mood - dark, dull and soundless.

Stepping inside Collinwood he paused a moment in the foyer as he thought about where he ought to start his search. It was silly really. There was only one place where the mystery's dark secret could be, the secret to what became of the present day Collins family.

In his old room in the West Wing, of course.

*

1897 – Rushmore Sanitarium

Judith sat waiting in the plain, white, disgustingly safe little room, which was reserved for that rare occasion when a visitor actually wanted to visit one of the sanitarium's unhappy tenants.

She knew full well that she was in perfect control of her faculties and was sure that the doctors would soon realize it too. Judith still couldn't believe that her so-called husband, Rev. Gregory Trask had thrown her in here and then had the gaul not to even visit her once in her 3 months stay. She was beyond angry, she was hurt. He had never cared for her, that much was obvious and she was going to make sure that when she got out of this god-forsaken nut house she would make him pay.

To her surprise both of her living brothers had visited her. She had expected Edward of course, his sense of family duty, pride and loyalty guarantied that much whether he actually cared for her or not. Quentin however she had not expected, and as she waited for her new unknown visitor she recalled Quentin's last visit…

-

He was standing in the doorway when she looked up, his expression odd… tragic. He sat down opposite her and asked her how she was holding up, making small talk. Judith noticed that Quentin looked tired and old, if that was possible. Once the conversation had come to a stop he had swallowed hard and looked into Judith's face in the most serious expression she had ever seen, eyes pleading. He reached over and took both of Judith's hands in his own.

"Judith please… tell me that you had nothing to do with hiding my children from me… please."

Judith was shocked, her mind swimming. How did he find out? When?

Looking into his eyes she suddenly felt ashamed for her part in the whole scheme, how could she do such a thing to her own brother? Had she really believed for a minute that he would never find out? He was Quentin Collins… he found out everything sooner or later.

At Judith's silence Quentin squeezed her hand tighter, "Judith…" he prodded.

She closed her eyes and gained every ounce of courage she could muster to tell him the truth. "Quentin, I'm so sorry… but I can't tell you what you want to hear."  
His face fell. "You knew then, you were part of it. This whole time you knew and you never said a word?! How could you do this to me Judith? I never thought – Do you really hate me that much, do you really think me that horrible?"

  
"Quentin, I-" Judith started, immediately interrupted by Quentin.

"No, don't say another word. I don't want to hear your excuses, lies and false sentiment. But before I leave I suppose I should tell you that your nephew, my son… is dead."

And then Quentin was gone, leaving his sister Judith alone with her guilt, betrayal and sorrow.

-

Judith hoped that the visitor today was Quentin, she wanted so badly to explain, to apologize for what she had done. Judith was disappointed when the visitor turned out to be Edward, entering the little room he got strait to the point. His typical style.

"I don't have time to stay Judith but I came to tell you that Quentin is leaving Collinwood and this time I think it's for good."

"What!" Judith exclaimed, taken off guard by this sudden news. "Why? Where is he going?"

  
"Paris."

*

The Present

Quentin found himself standing inside the second of his small suite of rooms tucked in the back of the West Wing, in 1897 he had sat and listened to his gramophone for hours on end here.

His dusty little room of memories.

At first glance the room appeared to be as he had left it so many years ago. His footsteps echoed as he continued on into the adjoining room, his bedroom. Everything seemed normal in there as well… except that the secret panel was open a crack. He was the only one who knew about that secret panel; it led to an unusual room in the very end of the West Wind. Unusual because no one knew it existed except him. Unusual because it had no windows and held only a solitary table, a long dinning room type table.

It really was quite strange.

Quentin approached it as a sense of gloom invaded his spirit because now he knew.

He knew that that strange little room was where the secret lye, waiting for him to open the panel, to walk into the room and discover it.

Chapter 30

Quentin stared into the dark doorway as a sense of gloom assaulted his very spirit. Too dark to see inside Quentin turned around and quickly started to search his old room for something that would help illuminate the darkened quarters.

As he searched he could feel something pushing… as if pushing against his mind. An intruder was trying to take over his own brain, his own body.

Count Petofi.

'Well, I guess I didn't expect him to stay away forever. I'm not that lucky.' Quentin thought to himself. He focused all his strength on keeping Count Petofi out of his mind. The longer he could delay the inevitable, the greater the chances were that Julia and Nick would summon Angelique successfully. He just hoped he could hang on long enough.

~*~

Julia looked over Quentin's list again, making sure she and Nick had gathered everything that was on it. Yes, everything was ready and the time was quickly approaching. Julia prayed Quentin would be back in time to help Nick and herself. Although she had taken part in many seances and ceremonies in her time she had never done any such thing alone, not without Barnabas, Quentin or another member of the Collins' family.

She rather not start now.

~*~

Quentin had managed to scrounge up a match and a half-burned, red wax candlestick. He'd rather of had a flashlight but this would have to do, he thought as he mentally kicked himself for not having the foresight to bring one along.

He struck the match, watching its fire flame and then die down. He lit the candle and felt immediate comfort in the small amount of light that it's little flame produced… but the ghostly sound of nothing still unnerved him.

'As silent as a tomb' he thought wryly. 'Rather cliché' but fitting non-the-less.'

Quentin walked back over to the secret panel and into the hidden room. Once he did so the darkness seemed to press in on him even more than before making him feel very claustrophobic, something he had never felt in his life.

As he stood stone still in the room he saw nothing at first but black. As he started to approach the table that he knew was in the center of the little room Quentin became aware of a soft but steady sound. It was the old grandfather clock that stood on the far wall… still going, as if oblivious to time.

Tick, tick, tick…

~*~

Julia glanced at the clock restlessly.

11:40pm

Quentin still wasn't back yet and she was growing more and more alarmed that she and Nick would have to summon the dangerous witch without him.

Nick was pacing the hotel room nervously in front of Julia, making her more edgy if it were possible. Nick had been through countless things in his life. Some were frightening… many were bizarre, but summoning a seemingly two-faced female witch back from the depths of hell was something he had managed to miss in his long life and it was something he felt he could continue to live without. Looking back at the clock he was reminded of how slow time went when you wanted tomorrow to come on swift wings.

~*~

Quentin let out a small gasp as the room began to come into focus, slowly, ever so slowly the long rectangular table came into view… and… what was that. Figures? Figures… 8 figures sitting around the long oak table.

They were so still.  
So very still.  
Almost… as if they were statues…

Quentin took a tentative step forward, the light from his candle flickering across the disquieting room.

'People can't really be sitting around this table, it just isn't logical.'  
He took another step towards the figures, then another.

No doubt about it, 8 people were sitting around the table.  
'Well, since when has logic ever been a part of Collinwood?'

He stood before one of the figures now. Bending down he leaned toward the female figure as he raised his candle in front of his face to get a better look. The candlelight danced across the figures features making everything appear fake and unreal… he was beginning to think that this all might be some sort of hideous dream.

He reached out his trembling hand until his fingertips met with the hard cool surface of the woman figure.

Cold. So cold… and hard as ice. Quentin shuddered and instinctively pulled back his hand as if it had been scorched.

They were statues, all of them. Eight porcelain statues sitting silently around the long old oak table, hidden deep within the bowls of Collinwood's forgotten halls. They all looked so realistic, so lifelike. They're eyes like shimmering glass orbs sucking up any image that dared pass over them. Quentin almost believed that they, at any moment, would blink… turn to him and ask what he was doing, barging in on them as they waited for their supper to be served.

Glancing down the length of the table he noticed the name-cards placed in front of each statue reading the names of the people they represented.

'This is just too bizarre.' He thought as his eyes hit the figure seated at the head of the table.

It was Count Petofi.

Quentin's eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight before him. The Count was sitting as still as the others… but… was he really like the others? Or was he really the count playing some demented joke on him. He approached the 'statue' of Petofi, knowing all the while that he should stay away. His fear growing with each step he took toward him.

Tick, tick, tick… the old clock continued as if everything were normal and sane in this twisted world Quentin found himself in.

The room appeared to Quentin almost like a painting. Timeless and frozen in a world of it's own… never changing and rooted down for eternity.

And at the moment he hoped that was true.

Tick, tick, tick….

Quentin stood next to Count Petofi's statue, too close for comfort.

Tick, tick, tick.

He moved his candle closer to it, looked at the name-card in front of it.  
The name-card read 'Quentin Collins'.

"What the hell…?" Quentin said out loud, not even realizing it until it shattered the silence in the room like a sharp shard of glass.

Tick, tick, tick. Now a taunting sound to Quentin as he looked back at the statue of Petofi… it was grinning now. Had it been grinning before? He couldn't think… he couldn't remember. Darkening shadows were creeping along the walls, an eerie product of what little light Quentin held onto. The air seemed to grow cold within seconds; the frosty cloud that came when he exhaled confirmed his fear. A loud sound broke his thoughts and it dawned on Quentin that it was the secret panel slamming shut with tremendous force. Quentin didn't even want to think of the reason. He stood up straight and started towards the panel, praying that it would open for him. The thought of being trapped in this room terrified him, but a hand grabbed his arm roughly before he could even take three steps.

Quentin let out a short, startled holler as he snapped his head around to see his captor.

It was non-other than Count Petofi. His 'statue' was still seated, but the right hand had moved from the tabletop and held on to Quentin's lower arm with the force of granite. Crushing his arm Quentin gritted his teeth and fixed a steely stare on the Count. It's head turned then, the sound of cracking porcelain accompanying it's every move until it stared directly at Quentin.

"Your time is up, my boy." It said to him evilly and followed his taunt with mad laughter. Low at first and increasing in volume as it continued. Quentin used all the force he could muster and broke away from Petofi's grip… breaking the Counts statue's porcelain hand as he pulled away.

But the laughing continued. Laughing… tick, tick, tick… laughing … tick, tick, tick…

Quentin couldn't stand it any longer; he covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes tightly. It didn't help; he could still hear the Count's grating laughter echo through his mind. He opened his eyes and made a mad dash for the secret panel stopping dead in his tracks at the hideous sound he heard next, above the roar of laughter and the ticking of the old grandfather clock. Turning around he looked at the statues sitting around the table. They were starting to break apart, seemingly from the Count's screeching laughter, like glass shatters at a piercing sound, so were the porcelain figures.

He stood watching in horror, glued to the spot as they fell apart, the porcelain pieces shattering as they hit the floor. But then Quentin realized something even more horrifying; the porcelain was just a covering for the gruesome reality that lied beneath it. Like a fake skin, underneath was something he never would have expected.

Quentin closed his eyes – opened them again.

The image was the same.

And only then did Quentin finally realize what happened to the 1960's Collins' family. They sat before him now, dead. They had been dead for years… more victims of the monstrous Count Petofi.

Tick, tick, tick…

Quentin looked breifly at the old clock, Count Petofi was right.

He was out of time.

11:53pm

Shooting his glance back over to the table he gasped and began to back away. The skeletons of his long dead family looked as if they were trying to rise.

"No" Quentin whispered hoarsely, watching in horror as they succeeded in standing and making their way towards him. Awkward and slow, hands out stretched they looked like puppets and Quentin came to the conclusion that that's exactly what they were. Count Petofi's demented puppets.

Closer and closer they came and Quentin put his hands in front of his face protectively. "No!" he screamed over and over and a feeling of falling overcame him. It felt as if he were being pushed, falling backwards. Everything became dark and the only sound left was that damn eternal ticking of that old grandfather clock.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…

Dark, so very dark and Quentin wondered if he was dead.

If the Count had finally won.

~*~

Julia checked the clock for the hundredth time.

11:58pm

Quentin was not going to make it in time - she just knew it. Sighing she said to Nick sullenly "Nick, we had better get ready to begin."

~*~

The first sensation Quentin had was a feeling of a cold surface on his left cheek. He was groggy, his body felt weak and he became aware of voices around him, two male voices.

"He is a decibel of the devil! What you have just witnessed with your own eyes should prove it to you!"

Quentin groaned as he slowly opened his eyes to find Edward standing next to him, a look of confusion, fear and anger all rolled into one masked his face. Trask was standing right behind him with a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

"Wha—What's going on here?" Quentin said groggily, still trying to get a handle on things. He felt slow and drained of strength.

"Perhaps you can tell me!" Edward all but yelled, Quentin looked down and saw the scattered I-Ching wands and it occurred to him what had happened. Edward and Trask had found him in his I-Ching trance; Edward had scattered the wands and brought him back to 1897 once again… the damn fool.

"He was practicing the black arts, sorcery… witchcraft! He MUST be destroyed before he brings more evil and doom to Collinwood!" Trask preached to Edward.

"No… no, Edward… listen to me. I can explain, I—" Quentin started, only to be cut-off by Edward. "There is no need for you to explain, Trask has explained it all, and he is right! I… I… I cannot allow you to continue your cursed existence any longer!" Edward said, struggling to keep his composure.

"No! I—"

"We know all about your attempts to drive everyone in this house mad and take everything for yourself! You drove your poor sister Judith insane and put Jamison and Edward under your spell! But the All Mighty was too powerful for you and they were able to defeat your evil with His help! We know all about you now Quentin!"

"What are you talking about?! I didn't do any of that, it was Petofi! I told you all about it Edward! It was Petofi!" Quentin said as he desperately grabbed onto Edwards frock coat trying to make him listen. "I saved you and Jamison, Edward! Don't you understand?!"

"Of course you would say such a lie to save your own skin!" Spat Trask in disgust. "Kill him Edward, kill him now. You know you must, it is your duty. You know it is!"

Quentin was still holding onto Edward for dear life, his eyes searched Edwards pleadingly.

"It's not true! Please Edward, you've got to believe me. I-I-I know you don't have the heart to kill me. I'm your brother… your brother!!!"  
"I can't… allow you to live!" Edward said forcefully. His right hand had been hidden behind his back; Quentin glanced down at his hand as Edward started to move it out from behind his back. He held something in it, what? Was it a glint of steal?

"Ed-Edward, what do you have in your hand?" He had no time to react, just starting to pull away. "What are you going to—"  
Quentin didn't get to finish his sentence, he clutched Edward's coat tightly in his hands as the intense pain hit him, the sharp cold blade digging deep into his chest. Moaning, Quentin felt his knees go weak and he fell hard against Edward causing the knife to go in even deeper. He looked up at Edward, tears of tortured pain in his eyes as he tried to remain standing. Quentin felt Edward twist the knife once… hard. Quentin yelled and his legs failed him as he fell onto the floor in a heap. He could feel his life quickly flowing out of his body and maroon started to seep into the corners of his vision.

Quentin's clock chimed. It was midnight.

"I… I never dreamed… my own… brother would be… my… executioner." Quentin all but whispered as maroon quickly engulfed the rest of his eyesight, completely filling it and becoming brighter… until he saw nothing but red fading quickly to black.

Chapter 31

"Because I could not stop for Death --  
He kindly stopped for me --  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And immortality."  
-Emily Dickinson_, Because I Could Not Stop For Death_

Julia glanced at the clock nervously as it ticked down to the exact moment in which they needed to start the ceremony to summon Angelique. Nick met her eyes as he said, "I guess Quentin won't be joining us."

"I'm afraid not, I just hope we can save him in time. Let's get ready to begin." Julia struck a match and quickly began lighting the candles as Nick took his place for the ceremony.

Blowing out the match, Julia and Nick watched the clock anxiously. Julia prayed that the ceremony Quentin told them to perform would succeed.

11:59pm

One more minute. One more minute and they would have no choice, but to begin.

~*~

1897

Edward's eyes widened, he started to back away from his brother's now lifeless body as the reality of the situation just started to hit him.

"My god… what have I done?" he whispered hoarsely. He had been caught up in the moment, he had let Trask pry into his mind and make him insane with rage and paranoia. He hadn't even listened to Quentin when he tried to explain… and there was no changing what he'd done now.

What if Quentin had been telling the truth? Now… he may never know what had been fact and what had been Trask's fantasies… Trask's vicious lies.

"You did your duty, Edward. He was evil, he was inhuman –"  
"…he was my brother." Edward finished. He swallowed hard, backing away from the gruesome scene faster. He couldn't stand seeing Quentin lying there on the floor.

Cold. Lifeless. Dead.

He turned away from the body and headed to the door, only pausing for a moment to look at Trask as he said, "Your in this with me all the way. Killing Quentin was your idea and if you dare to call the police, I swear I'll tell them that."  
"You can count on me Edward." Trask said, a slight smile touching his lips.  
"Mr. Trask, no one is to **ever** know what happened here this night."  
"Of course, rest assured Edward… I will keep silent about this night."  
"Good. No one is to know that Quentin is dead, not even my sister. We'll… yes, we'll seal this room up – close off the West Wing –"

"What about the body, Edward?" Trask interrupted, "If we try to take it out into the woods and bury it someone may find him later… or worse, someone may catch us in the act."

"We'll leave it here."  
"Here?" Trask said incredulously. "Just lying on the floor like this?"

"Mr. Trask – we are going to leave this room, panel up the doorway and close off the West Wing… _forever_. No one will ever know that Quentin died here… and once our Collins' generation is gone, no one will ever know that Quentin, or this room **ever** existed at all."

~*~

Present Time

Julia took a deep breath as the clock struck midnight. Nick looked straight into the flame of a candle and began to chant to himself softly as Quentin had instructed. Julia looked into the flame of her candle and started the ceremony…

"I address myself and the man here with me to the powers of darkness. I call upon a flame to summon you. I call upon the raven and the viper and all the dark creatures of nature to draw you, like a rising mist from out of the darkness of the earth…"

The hotel room suddenly became deathly cold as a harsh wind blew around the two of them. The candles flickered… yet did not go out, despite the heavy wind. Julia took a deep breath and continued…

"Rise… rise… rise and help us! For there is an enemy in our midst and he **must** be destroyed! Rise… rise… and help us rid ourselves of the enemy we wish to destroy! Rise!"

Just as Julia finished the chant she heard an eerie, soft, and very familiar laughter echo through the room. Nick looked around wildly for the source as Julia waited for her to show herself. Slowly she became visible before them in the tiny room, as enchanting and beautiful as ever.

'Well chalk one up for Quentin,' Julia thought to herself, 'the ceremony worked, evidently he does know what he's doing when it comes to the black arts.'

"Julia my dear, of all people… I would never have imagined YOU to be the one to summon me back from hell." Angelique said, looking like she couldn't believe her eyes. She looked Julia over suspiciously and cast a questioning glance towards Nick. "You must need help with something VERY badly, to have summoned me. Tell me, how did you know how to perform this little… ritual?"  
"Quentin told me how to do it. It was his idea to summon you."  
"Quentin!?" Shocked Angelique quickly looked around the room. "If it was his idea then why isn't he here?"

"It's a long story Angelique…" Julia said with a sigh. She was getting too old for all this nonsense, she thought to herself. She was exhausted.

"Well then perhaps you ought to start telling it to me, start at the beginning and don't leave anything out… that is if you want my help."

~*~

1897

Judith was seated in a small office in Rushmore Sanitarium. The office only had the bare necessities with nothing that could be dangerous out in open sight. The walls were painted an eggshell white, it was said to have a calming effect.

She hadn't noticed it.

Judith was waiting for her "shrink" to join her. This was the day she had been waiting for, after months of torture and insanity hopefully coming to an end. Her behavior had been excellent and **she** knew she was in perfect control of her faculties… and today was the day the doctor would tell her if she could return home to Collinwood… or of she must stay.

She shuddered at the thought of spending one more day in this god-forsaken place; she had to get out… before she really **did** lose her mind.

She turned towards the door as she heard it open. It was the doctor; he smiled as he sat down opposite her. Getting straight to the point he said, "You've made an exceptional recovery Judith. I'm happy to report that you're free to leave here and return to your home anytime you like."

Judith sighed with audible relief accompanied by a genuine smile. "Thank you, doctor. Thank you."

~*~

Beth hung up Mrs. Fillmore's telephone, she had called Collinwood to see if Quentin was still there and no one had answered… and that was very odd. Usually someone was there to answer a call, even if it was just a servant.

She quickly picked up the receiver again and ordered herself a carriage; she had to get back to Collinwood. Something was wrong, she just knew it… and she had a horrible feeling it had to do with Quentin.

Done with her call, she went over to one of the little cottages front windows and looked outside as she nervously bit her nails.

"What's the matter dear?" Mrs. Fillmore asked softly, startling Beth. She hadn't heard Mrs. Fillmore enter the room.

"Oh… nothing." She lied, "I called a carriage. I really must be getting back to Collinwood right away."

~*~

Present Time

Angelique and Julia stepped into the large foyer of Collinwood. Julia wished they didn't have to leave Nick at the hotel, but at 9:00am there was no way around it. Angelique had listened to the whole story at the hotel and on their ride to Collinwood, the more she heard the more she became concerned for Quentin and themselves as well. She didn't seem too surprised that Count Petofi had returned, but was shocked when she was told what plans he had for Quentin. Even she couldn't understand all the powers he seemed to have.

Making their way to the ominous west wing in silence, they could feel their anxiety radiating off each other with the shrill creaking of the floorboards being their only companion. They walked along the once closed-off passage that seemed to know nothing of daylight and everything of darkness.

Stepping into the first room of Quentin's old suite they could both sense the doom in the air, hanging over them like a dark thunderstorm. As the hairs on the back of their neck stood on end Angelique looked at Julia and finally broke their silence, "I get the distinct feeling we're going to find something here today."

Julia nodded her head slowly in agreement, "Yes, and when we do… I don't think we're going to like it."


	6. Part 5

Chapter 32 

As they peered into the darkness they noticed the door to Quentin's adjacent room open, looking at each other then back at the door they quickly made they're way over to it.

As Angelique looked into the next room the first thing that caught her eye was the beautiful magenta colored horn of Quentin's old gramophone. Cautiously she walked over to it, her hand making contact with the chilly surface of the horn.

As she touched it she could swear she started to hear the haunting melody of the waltz… and **his** voice as he recited the lyrics in an almost unearthly tone.

"Shadows of the night,  
Falling Silently,  
Echo of the past,  
Calling me to you…"

Angelique snatched back her hand quickly, unnerved at hearing Quentin's voice again after so many years. The waltz abruptly stopped.

"What's the matter Angelique?" Julia asked in a hushed whisper.

Angelique turned to Julia…

"Did you hear that?"

Julia gave her a confused look and answered, "Hear what?"

Angelique shook her head and began to walk away from the gramophone, giving it one last curious glance. "Never mind… I just thought – Julia! Look there! I don't remember a door there, is that a secret panel?"

Julia looked over to where Angelique was pointing. Her vision was not what it used to be, but she could still make out the image of an open door across the darkened room. "I never knew there was a secret panel there…" Julia said as her voice trailed off.

Angelique went over to the door and stuck her head into the darkened space. "Looks like a passage, I think if we're going to find anything it's going to be in there. Wait here Julia."

Stepping into the abyss she followed the short passageway to a room. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she let out a small gasp as she saw the porcelain figures sitting around the table.

They looked so lifelike yet she knew they were not from the moment she laid eyes on them. The skin so creamy white, smooth, complete perfection. And they sat perfectly still, and the room was deathly quiet. She could make out a grandfather clock standing against one of the walls but it didn't seem to be running.

"Julia" Angelique whispered back into the passage. "Julia, come in hear and bring some kind of light with you… a candle, anything!" As she heard Julia say "OK" she turned back towards the long wooden table. A room with a hidden entry, no windows and apparently no other way out… with only a long wooden table, a run-down clock and the ghastly porcelain figures. What was going on and what did it all mean?

After another minute Julia joined Angelique at the room's doorway, a candle in her hand.

"My god." Julia said horrified, "So this is what happened to the Collins Family!"

Angelique snapped her head back to Julia, "But these aren't real people Julia, they're just porcelain figures."

"I get the feeling that they're a LOT more than that Angelique… I don't know how to explain it, it's just a feeling. Nick told me about a dream he had a while back; everything is just like he described. He even told me the names of the porcelain figures around this table… and one came to life."

Taking the candle Angelique walked over to the head of the table nearest the doorway. Leaning over she saw a nametag and read it out loud.

"Elizabeth Collins Stoddard"

"What?" Julia said, shocked. "But Nick sad the names of the 1897 Collins family."

"Very curious…" Angelique said, "But what he saw was the result of a dream… and as far as I'm aware we are in no dream."

"What are the rest of the names?" Julia asked, "It might be important."

Angelique walked around the table slowly, reading out the names as she went.

"Roger Collins, Lucien LaCroix, David Collins." She looked up, "Who's Lucien?"  
"It's Nick's friend that disappeared when they first came to Collinwood."

"Ah, I see… Quentin is at the other head of the table, I hope that doesn't mean we're to late." She said as she continued inaudibly, at least to Julia, "still beautiful my dear."

Angelique walked over to the next figure, "Carolyn Stoddard". She stopped at the figure next to Carolyn's, blinking twice at the name…"My god! Barnabas!" she hissed. Kneeling down and touching the porcelain face. "Is this where you've been all these long years my darling." Angelique whispered to him.

"We're going to do our best to save them all, aren't we Angelique?"

Standing up Angelique whipped around as her eyes shimmered. "Damn right we are."

"Who's the last figure Angelique, I can't see a thing in here."

"Victoria Winters"

"Vicky!" Julia said, a little more loudly than she had intended. Her voice bounced between the four walls in the tiny room. "So Petofi was responsible for what happened to her as well…"

"It would seem so Julia. If you're right… if Petofi has amassed enough power to imprison the Collins family inside these statues then I'm afraid we're in a lot of trouble." Angelique said as she walked back over to Quentin's statue. "Which statue came alive in Nick's dream Julia?" she asked curiously.

"Quentin's – or rather Petofi's. You see, he said that the statue in his dream was wearing black gloves and when it attacked Nick the statue's right hand… fell off." Julia explained.

"I see, so the statue in Nick's dream was of Petofi masquerading in Quentin's body." Angelique concluded, looking over at Julia.

"Yes, that's the only explanation I can come to."

"Then how do you explain the fact that THIS statue of Quentin **isn't **wearing any gloves?"

Julia blinked, baffled. "I don't know."

Angelique walked over to the old grandfather clock, the time read midnight but the clock was not ticking. It had probably stopped years ago. Turning she caught sight of a shadow in one of the corners of the room, moving towards it she realized it was a body.

"Quentin!" Angelique cried out. He was flat on his back and she couldn't believe that they'd been in the room this long and hadn't noticed him lying there. He seemed to be unconscious and was unusually cold but she could see that he was breathing. Grabbing hold of one of his hands she squeezed it tightly as she softly told him that he was going to be alright now. Julia started to walk over but Angelique suddenly let go of Quentin's hand, letting it drop to the ground with a thud. Standing up she turned to Julia, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Julia, this Quentin is wearing gloves. Was Quentin wearing black gloves when you last saw him?"  
Thinking, Julia could feel the sense of dread creeping into the pit of her stomach. She knew what Angelique was getting at. "No, he wasn't wearing gloves. I don't ever recall Quentin wearing gloves…"

"Exactly, Julia… I think-"  
"-They've switched places." Julia finished, horrified. "We're too late."

Angelique looked at her Barnabas. Now a frozen figure trapped for eternity in a cold, hard tomb. Then she looked at Quentin's porcelain face and back at the unconscious body that was once his. As her eyes met Julia's again they were burning red with hatred for Count Petofi.

"Not if I can help it Julia. We're going to do everything… and I mean everything we can to bring these two back to us and give the Count… exactly what he deserves."

Chapter 33

Om Asatoma Sadgamaya (From delusion lead me to Truth)  
Tamasoma Jyoti Gamaya (From darkness lead me to Light)  
Myrityoma Amritam Gamaya (From death lead me to eternal life.)

~*~

The Present

Julia followed Angelique out of the disturbing secret room, and back into Quentin's room.

"Angelique, what are we going to do?"

"First, we're going to trap that monster in Quentin's, now convenient, secret room just like he did to the rest of the Collins family."

"What goes around, comes around." Julia quipped softly.

"Precisely."

"How are we going to trap him in there Angelique, even if we jam the door… he has powers. He might still be able to get out." Julia asks, studying the secret panel.

Angelique looked at Julia mischievously, grabbing her attention.

"You just leave that to me. Right now there is something I'd like you to do while I attend to this."

"What's that?"

"Leave me now, find some more candles and set up a small table and two chairs in the drawing room. I believe Roger kept the card table in the study."

"A Seance?"

"Of course, dear Julia. What else?"

"Who are we going to contact?"  
"You'll see. Now go… quickly!" Angelique said, irritated. "You're wasting time, I feel our 'friend' will be waking up very soon. I'll meet you in the drawing room once I am through here."

Julia briskly left the room, and Angelique immediately went to work.

~*~

1897

Secret, secret… who's got a secret?

~

Judith stepped into the Collinwood foyer, the large front doors shutting hard behind her. Setting down her suitcase she smiled, happy.

She was finally back home.

Her happiness was short lived however when the only thing that greeted her was the sound of the storm raging outside, and an empty house. A chill crept up her spine. Something was definitely going on at Collinwood tonight, despite the stony silence.

The sound of another carriage stopping in front of Collinwood broke her out of her reverie. Judith opened the front door to find Beth Chavez rushing towards Collinwood, as the carriage sped away as fast as it came.

"Beth!" Judith declared once she was at the door, "You haven't been out all night, have you?

"Miss Judith! It's so nice to see you again, has the doctor released you from the sanitarium for good?" Beth asked, as she closed the front doors and removed her hat. She was soaking wet.

"Indeed he has. Beth, what is going on around here? I haven't seen or heard a soul since I arrived. The doctor and I tried to phone several times to let Edward know that I was to arrive tonight and no one answered. Not even a servant! And may I ask, where have you been?" Judith queried.

"At Mrs. Fillmore's, it was the oddest thing Miss Judith, Edward took me there earlier this afternoon. He didn't tell me why. I think he wanted to get me out of the house. I waited for him to send someone to come and get me, but no one ever came. So I decided to call a carriage, I had to get back here Miss Collins. I have the feeling something is terribly wrong!"

"So strange…" Judith said, almost to herself. "I've had the same feeling, and I can't imagine why Edward would try to get rid of you."

"Neither can I."

"Beth. We're going to find out exactly what's going on in this house tonight."

~*~

The Present

Angelique smiled as she finished the spell; Petofi wasn't getting out of that room any time soon. At least, not until SHE wanted him out.

'Ah, the sweet irony of life.' Angelique thought to herself. ' First, you held me captive in that cave in 1897 and now I hold you captive in Quentin's secret room.'

Angelique heard something from the other side of the door. A slight shuffling of feet… he was awake.

'Now the real fun begins!' Angelique thought gleefully.

The sound got louder as he approached the panel, until he was right on the opposite side of it.

Petofi, in Quentin's body, reached for the panel's trigger to open in. He smiled at his own achievements. He could hardly contain his joy… he had successfully switched places with Quentin Collins and imprisoned that miserable Collins family for all time.

He was not filled with joy, however, when the panel didn't open after he pulled the trigger.

Frowning, he tried it again.

And again.

It wouldn't open.

Petofi focused all the powers of his hand on the door in front of him… yet it still didn't move. Not even an inch. "What the-?!" Petofi said in frustration as he started to pound on the door with his fists.

"My, my. I see you still have quite the temper… Count Petofi." Angelique said smuggle from the other side of the door.

Petofi stopped pounding; his confusion turned to rage… 'It was Angelique!'

"You won't be opening this door Petofi, only I can open it." She continued.

"You! How dare you continue to interfere with my plans and me! **Open this door NOW!**"

"I don't feel like it… and as far as my interference, I'll interfere **whenever** and **however** I please where Barnabas OR Quentin is concerned."

"I don't give a damn about Barnabas. Quentin, on the other hand, is all mine. There is absolutely nothing that you can do to save him now. You're too late Angelique. He's already dead. Do you hear me?! DEAD!" Petofi shouted, furious for here interruption in his plans. She could prove to be a problem.

Angelique's eyes shimmered with hatred, her powers feeding off of the strong feeling like a leech. The more hate she felt, the more powerful she felt. It was the way it had always been. Her voice dripped with venom as she answered him.

"We'll just see about that. Don't **ever** underestimate me, Count. It would be a grave mistake. I'm going to see to it that you're taken care of… permanently." She paused for a moment, and then added "Quite a switch, isn't it Petofi? Me holding YOU hostage for a change. So long!"

Angelique laughed, as she turned around and walked out of the room. The sound of Petofi's frantic pounding and screaming following her out.

It pleased her immensely.

~

"Julia, I see you've got everything ready. That's good, I don't want to waste any time. We're going to begin right away." Angelique said, as she met Julia in the Collinwood drawing room.

"Who are we contacting?"

Angelique rolled her eyes, as if the question was ridiculous. "Quentin, of course."

"Then Quentin IS dead?" Julia asked sadly.

"I'm afraid it seems that way. But if it is true, then his death might just become Petofi's downfall."

"I don't get it, but I'll go through with it anyway, if it will help rid us of that scum once and for all."

"Oh, indeed it will. You see, Petofi defeated me… temporarily, by forcing me to fight two enemies at once. You can't concentrate all your power on both thus weakening you and allowing an enemy to win, that you otherwise might have been able to defeat." Angelique explained.

Julia was beginning to understand.

"I will be the first enemy…"  
"And Quentin will be the second." Julia finished, following Angelique's reasoning. "It might just work at that."

Angelique glanced at Julia and raised an eyebrow. "Of course it will."

To Be Continued…


	7. Part 6 conclusion

Chapter 34 

Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.  
~ Charlotte Brontë

~*~

Present Time

Julia took a seat first, she hoped beyond hope that Angelique's plan would work. Angelique took her place opposite her. "I assume both of us have had enough practice in seances. I don't think there is any need for me to explain everything, is there?"

"I know how it goes."

Angelique gave a quick nod and placed her hands on the table. Julia did the same, their fingertips touching.

"Concentrate on contacting Quentin…" Angelique began softly as they both closed their eyes picturing the Quentin they both knew well… "We seek a spirit this night, one that can help us defeat a common enemy. Quentin Collins, we call upon you for we need your help and in return we may be able to help you…"

Julia took a deep breath, the air around them was cold and damp, or was it just her imagination?

"Quentin, please… there is an enemy in our midst that must be destroyed, we need your help… appear to us!" continued Angelique, but the room was silent.

Cold. Still.

As still as death itself.

~

Soft whispers. That's all they were.

Summoning, calling, begging him to come to them.

To help.

The whisper was so faint… so very far away; he was barely conscience of it.

'Please, just let me be' his mind thought, irritated. He just wanted to sleep, to have that beautiful peace that had he had constantly been denied.

"Quentin"

His name was said again, no more than a breath on the wind. But it was there, and he could feel a force stirring around him, inside him… he was being pulled out. The darkness around him becoming lighter, like the dawn of a day.

"Quentin, _please_ come to us! Help us! Time is short!" the voice continued.

'Who was it? Who was calling him?' He was sure he knew…

"Quentin" the voice said again, hypnotic… sensual. And then, he knew whom it was who was calling him.

"Angelique" the ghost of Quentin Collins said out loud. The sound seemed to penetrate the realm of death, cracking into the realm of life like a shard of glass and he knew instantly that she had heard him.

Quentin suddenly felt tremendously powerful forces yank him towards her, the darkness lifting as if a new day had come… and perhaps it had.

He recognized the room he was in immediately; he'd had many drinks in this room in an attempt to drown out his sorrow. It never seemed to work. The furniture was much different then it had been in 1897, yet it was still very familiar to him. He was aware that he'd had more than one life and more than one memory. He remembered it all, even the _first_ time he died and tried to possess poor David Collins, and Quentin wondered how it was possible.

He was in the drawing room of Collinwood, it looked as it had when he rescued Nick from Petofi's ghost so he knew what time he had come to. He was not yet visible to the two ladies sitting around the table in the middle of the room, Angelique and Julia, but he could see and hear them perfectly. Yet there was one unique difference, there were no colors. None. Everything was shades of gray, black and white… as if he were watching an old B&W movie.

"I heard Quentin a minute ago Julia, didn't you?" Angelique whispered as she and Julia sat around the small table.

"Yes, it was faint but I'm sure I heard it." Julia confirmed, and Angelique tried a final time to get him to come to them. "Quentin Collins, if you can hear us please answer. We desperately need your help!"

"Your wish, my dear Angelique… is my command!"

Julia and Angelique jumped, his voice suddenly very near had startled them… no longer faint. Julia had her eyes fixed by the drawing room door, and Angelique turned around so she could see what Julia was staring at so intently. Quentin was materializing before them, and in an instant he was there.

'Just as I remember him.' Angelique thought to herself taking in his lean figure clothed in late 19th century attire and sporting the long sideburns of the era. He looked at them both, and seemed thoroughly amused.

Angelique was the first to speak, as a smile finally reached her lips. "You took long enough." She said half teasingly, and half seriously. She wasn't going to show it, but she had started to worry.

"Keep it up and you'll see how quickly I can leave, _my dear_."

"Alright, alright… I'm sorry. We need your help Quentin…"

"So I gathered," he interrupted "I did ask Julia to summon you so am I correct in assuming the enemy you need my help with is Count Petofi?"

"That's right" Julia answered.

"At least _something_ went right." He deadpanned. "What is your plan Angelique?"

"Do you remember when Petofi temporarily defeated my powers in 1897, Quentin?"

"How could I forget."

"He did so by making me fight two enemies at once…"  
"Oh, I see… and you'd like me to be Petofi's distraction while you work your magic."

"Exactly"

Quentin smiled wide, his teeth exposed. They very much reminded Angelique of a shark's ready mouth waiting for its prey. "I like that, what exactly do you want me to do?"  
"Look alive." Angelique replied.

~*~

1897

Beth rung her hands nervously, she was standing in the drawing room with Judith. They had searched the entire main house and found no one – anywhere. The only person they found was the cook, and she didn't know anything.

"I can't imagine why the West Wing is locked up." Judith said to Beth.

Beth shook her head sadly; she could feel that something was terribly wrong. It was as if something important to her had been taken away, something more important to her than anything else in her life… someone. Beth shuddered involuntarily; of course she knew what, or rather who it was…

"Quentin" she breathed, not even aware that she had said his name out loud.

"What about Quentin?" Judith asked curiously.

"I-I-" She stuttered, Beth didn't know whether to confide in Judith or not. But there was no one else she could talk to about this, certainly not Edward or Trask. Quentin was no where to be found, and she needed someone else. Why did this have to happen now? When she and Quentin finally seemed to understand each other, when he had finally shown her his real feelings, and said those words she had waited to hear from his lips with real feeling, for what seemed like eternity… 'I love you, Beth'. So different Quentin had been the last couple days. He had showed her a side she had given up on thinking that he possessed… caring… love.

A single tear trickled down Beth's cheek, and she tried to wipe it away before Judith noticed. Too late.

"Beth! What's the matter? Why are you upset?"

"Miss Judith… I just know something horrible has happened to Quentin!" she cried.

"What are you talking about? Quentin's in Paris."

"What?!" Beth practically shouted, apologizing immediately when she saw the startled look on Judith's face. "I-I'm sorry Miss Judith. But Quentin didn't go to Paris."

"But Edward… he told me that Quentin was leaving immediately, and that was a few days ago."

"I don't know why Edward told you that, but Quentin was here yesterday. I was with him. And he had no plans on going to Paris."

Judith looked confused and angry at the same time. "Why would Edward lie to me? What in the world is going on around here?"

"I'm not sure Miss Judith, but I have a feeling the answer is in the West Wing."

~*~

Present Time

Petofi was **_furious_**. After much effort, he was still unable to open the panel and was stuck in the small, damp room. 'Damn Angelique! **_No one_** did this to Count Andreas Petofi! She would pay for this.'

He looked over at the long table inside the secret room, and at the frozen porcelain statues around it. Oh, how he had relished destroying them, but now… with their lifeless eyes staring… it _almost_ frightened him. NO! Nothing frightened Petofi, especially his own victims. Petofi's eyes rested upon the empty spot at the head of the table… where Quentin's statue was _supposed_ to be. Petofi blinked to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. Quentin's statue had been there a minute ago… what he was seeing now was impossible.

Sluggishly Petofi made his way to the table in the center of the room, the silence creeping into his mind. His footsteps echoing across the cold stone slabs that were the floor. The other statues appeared unchanged, but it was the empty seat at the opposite head of the table that was taunting him so.

It suddenly came to his attention that he could see his breath. Could he before? He didn't think so. A sound broke the silence, it seemed quite innocent… but it wasn't. Petofi sucked in a large breath and held it in as he listened carefully.

"Tick, tick, tick…"

It was the clock. The clock that he himself had stopped earlier. He turned towards the old grandfather clock and time seemed to stand still as his eyes reached their destination.

The grandfather clock was indeed ticking, and leaning against it was a smirking Quentin Collins.

Chapter 35

And if any mischief follow, then though shalt give life for life,  
Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot,  
Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.  
~ Bible -- Exodus 21:23-25

~*~

The Present

Quentin was leaning against the clock, a smug look across his face and both arms crossed in front of his chest. Quentin didn't say a word; he just starred at Petofi with piercing steel blue eyes.

"Impossible!" Petofi hissed, "I sent you back!"

"Enjoying my body, Petofi?" Quentin said finally, his eyes angry blue orbs. Petofi could practically see a storm raging inside them.

"More than you are Quentin, my boy."

Quentin arched an eyebrow, and Petofi knew that Quentin Collins was seeking vengeance, and it occurred to him then that he might have a bit of a problem.

"You'd better enjoy it while you can." Quentin said as he pointed to the face of the old grandfather clock by his side.

It was then that Petofi noticed it… the clock, it was ticking backwards.

Quentin smiled wickedly, "Petofi _my boy_, when that clock strikes midnight… again… _your_ time in _my_ body will be up!"

Petofi straightened up defiantly, determined not to show any fear.

"You don't have the power Quentin."

"We'll see about that."

~

A smile played across Angelique's lips. Quentin was doing marvelously. Quentin had Petofi's full attention, and she was certain that Petofi had no idea that Quentin was only a distraction. Now he was completely vulnerable to her powers and she could deal with him as she saw fit.

She sat in the drawing room, in front of the fireplace. Before her she had Quentin's portrait which she would have to hide before she left, a clay doll and one of Petofi's black gloves that she had snatched earlier. Beginning her incantation, Angelique picked up the clay doll and the glove as she stared intently at Quentin's portrait. Not only was she going to try and destroy Petofi, she was going to try and undo what he'd done to Quentin.

~*~

1897

After a lot of searching Judith had managed to scrounge up a key to the West Wing. Now they found themselves in front of the door, Judith slipping the key into the lock.

Beth wished she didn't have the hollow, hopeless feeling she had. She was sure they were going to find something hideous in the West Wing and she was pretty sure exactly where that thing was going to be… Quentin's room.

Beth and Judith heard the snap of the lock and opening the door they made their way into the darkened, deserted halls of the West Wing.

~*~

The Present

Petofi watched the clock tick backwards.

Tick, Tick, Tick…

He looked at Quentin nastily. "You're bluffing, you don't have the power Quentin." He spat.

Quentin started to laugh, and it reminded Petofi of a roll of thunder as it roared louder and louder. Petofi **hated** to be laughed at and Quentin knew it.

"Stop it!" Petofi growled. He would be taken seriously or there would be hell to pay. "Stop laughing at me! I'm the one with the power, not you! You're nothing! I'll stop that clock myself, I still have the power of the hand!"

~

Angelique had just begun her incantation, kneeling beside the fireplace she had the clay doll in her hand. The doll was to represent Count Petofi. Grabbing his glove in the other hand she wrapped it around the doll loosely and started to work her magic.

~

Julia arrived back at the Collinsport Inn, to an anxious Nick.

"What's happening?" Nick asked immediately, barely letting Julia get inside the door.

"I'm afraid that Petofi did indeed switch places with Quentin. But Angelique has a plan she's carrying out as we speak. She told me to return here to let you know what's going on, and wait for her to return. Basically she wanted me out of the way." Julia said, snickering slightly.

"I see, I hope she is able to help Quentin. Julia, I think it's time that you told me the _whole_ truth about Quentin Collins. He confided to me that he was born in 1870, but that's all. I don't know anything else. After all this, I think I deserve to know the full story… you can trust me."

Julia sighed and nodded, knowing that Nick could be trusted to keep Quentin's secret. After all, Nick had a secret that was just as dark. "Very well, I'll tell you _everything_ that I know about Quentin, but you'd better sit down… it's a long story."

~*~

1897

Judith and Beth stood at the door of Quentin's entry room in shock. Quentin's bedroom door had been hastily boarded up. Beth walked up to it first, gently touching one of the boards to make sure she wasn't imagining it all.

She wasn't.

"Miss Judith, these boards are only held on by a couple nails, will you help me pull these off?"

"Of course, we have to find out what's being hidden behind this door."

Both grabbing hold of the top board they counted to three and tugged hard. The board gave way rather easily, it was apparent that whoever nailed the boards up was in a rush and didn't do a very good job of it. Taking hold of the next plank and pulling hard they started to reveal the closed door underneath.

~*~

The Present

Petofi had tried, unsuccessfully, to stop the clock from ticking down to midnight. He couldn't understand it! Why were his powers suddenly so useless to him? To top it all off, Quentin's intent stare was starting to unnerve him, much as he hated to admit it. Without warning Petofi began to feel odd… disoriented and weak.

He looked at Quentin and the clock. If Quentin could do what he had threatened… he only had 5 minutes left.

"Count, you seem tense. Perhaps you'd like some music to help calm your nerves in these final few minutes you have left." Quentin taunted, as music began to fill the room. Petofi recognized it immediately. What else would Quentin play but his favorite piece, Shadows of the Night? His theme…

Petofi had never liked that song, it was much to melancholy for his tastes and certainly wasn't welcome at a time like this.

"Quentin, you're not going to be able to get rid of me… you'll pay for this!"

"I'm already dead, there's not much else you can do to me." Quentin laughed, he'd never had so much fun getting revenge on someone… and it felt good.

~*~

1897

Pulling off the last board Beth and Judith had only paused a moment when they heard music playing… Quentin's music.

It sent chills up their spines, music doesn't just begin playing and no one would play that particular piece but Quentin himself.

Judith grasped the doorknob, her hand shaky, the more unusual things they discovered the more frightened they both became. Turning the knob she opened the door and entered the room first followed closely by Beth. Quentin's room was pitch black; they couldn't see a thing. Carefully Beth made her way towards the small table where she knew Quentin had kept a candle and matches. Her hands searched over the table until one hand made contact with the candleholder's cold brass surface. It tipped over, the sounds startling them both. As Beth fumbled around for the matches and holder she thought to herself that Quentin's music had never sounded more eerie and depressing to her than it did at this very moment.

Finally holding the candle Beth struck a match and lit it. A dim light started to emanate from it and slowly filled the room. Just enough light for her and Judith to see the most horrifying sight either of them had ever seen, lying directly in front of them on the cold, hard floor.

Quentin Collins was lying there, a pool of blood spilled under and around him, seeping into the wood floor.

Judith cried out in horror.

And Beth began to scream.

~*~

Present Time

Angelique was almost finished with her spell. Only the final and most crucial elements left to complete. Quentin had done splendidly. Angelique was positive that Quentin had Petofi's full and complete attention. Petofi had no idea that she was working her magic against him. Quentin's music echoed throughout the house, another trick of Quentin's to keep Petofi distracted.

Angelique placed Petofi's glove over the doll and kneeled by the fireplace as it roared to life.

"Master of the darkness, I call upon you now to help me in defeating a man by the name of Count Andreas Petofi. He who claims of power that is all his own. Power that he uses in your favor, power given to this man by you. Yet he defies you, great god of the underworld and all things evil, by **_daring_** to proclaim that there is but one god, and that god is himself! Master, you cannot let him continue to shame you. He should be punished! She should be taught a lesson that only you can teach him, one that he will never forget! Teach him that you are for more powerful than he could ever hope to be! Be with me now as I place this doll into the fire, made into the likeness of Petofi, let him burn for your glory! Let Andreas Petofi be destroyed, and his soul yours for the taking, but spare the body of Quentin Collins for years ago I promised his soul to you and I plan to fulfill that promise! Burn Petofi… burn… burn… burn!"

With that said, Angelique tossed the doll into the fire. She could feel that her master was with her now, feel his dark powers coursing through her body and she knew that Petofi would die. Never had she felt her masters power flow so strongly within her.

Angelique watched with glee as the doll and glove began to burn. It would happen now.

~

Petofi began to feel hot, as a burning sensation swept through his entire body. He was hot… so hot. The dizziness he felt before intensified. Quentin's ghost stood stone still, watching him with satisfaction as Petofi stumbled, reaching out for something to steady himself. But nothing was close to him and he fell onto the floor, his body in agony. Petofi let out a cry and started writhing in pain.

Quentin watched. Angelique seemed to have done it. Finally, at long last Petofi would die.

Quentin suddenly felt odd; making his glee short lived. He felt heavier than he had before and patches of color started to leak through his ghostly black and white vision. Quentin blinked in an attempt to clear his vision, but the patches were still there and appeared to by slowly growing as it ate up the gray shades.

The grandfather clock struck midnight for the second time that night and Quentin forced his attention back onto Petofi, in his body, lying on the floor in front of him. As the clock chimed, his body went limp and he noticed a thick vapor seemed to be rising from his body on the floor. Blacker than the black darkness around them it rose like a heavy steam. It was thick, and as it rose a deformed and hideous form seemed to pull together. The smell of rotting flesh filled the room and pure evil seemed to pour out of the vaporous cloud, trying to contaminate whatever and whomever it could with its vaporous skeleton like hands. Quentin backed away from it, until his back was firmly pushed against the wall.

"My god" he whispered, knowing what this horrendous thing in front of him was… it was Petofi's soul. It didn't even seem human.

'It' saw Quentin there, as it seemed to finish leaking out of the body on the floor. And it started to come after him. Quentin was not ready for this, and tried to dematerialize… but he couldn't. It was as if he was halfway between death and life, rooted in place and unable to do anything he panicked. He looked over and realized that 'it' was in the path of the doorway. The only way out of the small room and he would probably never make it if he made a run for it.

Quentin was trapped.

And there didn't seem to be any way out.

Chapter 36

Revenge proves its own executioner.  
~ John Ford

~*~

The Present

Just as Quentin was about to give up hope, a void seemed to form below the thing that was Petofi. Inside the dark void fire seemed to rage.

'The fire's of hell?' Quentin wondered… and feared.

Petofi stopped as he noticed what was happening below him and his hideous 'face' seemed to look down at the interruption.

In a matter of seconds a huge claw like hand reached out from the fires inside the black hole. Red with reptile like scales and hideously long predator-like claws it appeared to grab a handful of the black, misty goop that was Petofi's soul and then plunged quickly back into the fiery void. It seemed to pull Petofi with it, and he began to scream. It was inhuman, animal-like… unearthly and continued until the last of Petofi's black soul was pulled into the precipice.

Angelique ran into the secret room just in time to see Petofi pulled into the depths of hell, where he truly belonged. The wide-eyed spirit of Quentin watching in horror, disgust and glee at the sight before him.

As the last remnants of Petofi were sucked up, Quentin began to feel dizzy and before he even knew what was happening he blacked out.

Angelique watched as Quentin's spirit disappeared before her eyes, and hoped that her master spared him like she had pleaded. Angelique spotted Quentin's body on the floor, unharmed. Rushing over to Quentin's side she gently lifted up his wrist, feeling for a pulse. She breathed a genuine sigh of relief when she found one. As much as they had bickered in 1897, she couldn't help but admit that she did like Quentin. He was unlike anyone else she had ever met.

Quentin was still unconscious, but he was alive.

Angelique was startled by an unusual sound, like a clay pot shattering. Looking over at the long table she watched as the porcelain figures of the Collins family and friends began to break apart. Piece by piece the porcelain fell away, the pieces falling to the floor and shattering when they made impact with the hard stone floor.

Quentin started to stir beside her and his eyes fluttered open. This breathing unusually quick and irregular. Angelique helped him sit up and Quentin looked at her questioningly, having no clue what had just happened. Angelique gave him a true smile, "Welcome back to the land of the living, Quentin."

"Huh? What happened? Is Petofi really destroyed?!" Quentin said, as he looked at Angelique. She was blurry at first but slowly came into focus. His vision normal once again, no black and white, no patches.

"Indeed, Petofi is in hell… where he belongs. And you have your life, and body back. I'll explain the rest to you… later."

Quentin began to say something else but Angelique interrupted quickly, "Look Quentin!" she exclaimed, pointing to the table and statues.

"My god, what's happening?"

"I'm not quite sure, Quentin… I'm not quite sure."

Almost all the porcelain had fallen away, and what was being revealed underneath took Angelique and Quentin's breath away.

Underneath the porcelain likenesses were the people themselves. Quentin remembered the vision he'd had before being taken back to 1897 and realized that in its own, weird way it had shown him the truth. His family had been trapped beneath the porcelain, only Petofi could have come up with such a devious plot. Now that Petofi had _finally _been destroyed, they were at last released from his spell.

Quentin tried to get to his feet, but felt extremely weak and fell back.

"Take it easy, Quentin. You'll get your strength back in a day or two, coming back to life takes a lot out of you, you know." Angelique kidded as she helped him to his feet. Once standing, Quentin swayed a bit and Angelique kept one hand around his arm to steady him.

They both stood there in silence as the last pieces broke away and they all began to stir… as if they were waking from a long sleep. Angelique looked at Quentin and asked, "Can you stand on your own?" and let go when Quentin nodded yes. He wobbled a little, then got his balance and gave Angelique a weak thumbs up letting Angelique know that he'd be OK.

Angelique turned back towards the table and made her way to Barnabas. He was moving his arms slowly, as if they were stiff and soar… and they probably were. Angelique had put her feelings about Barnabas aside so that she could do what had to be done, but now her feelings seemed to pour out of her, almost uncontrollably. Tears spilled from her large, green eyes as she ran to Barnabas' side and wrapped her arms around him lovingly.

"I was so afraid I'd lost you." She whispered into his ear.

"Angelique? What's going on? Where am I and what are _you_ doing here?!" Barnabas asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.

"I'll explain it all to you later, but get yourself together first."

The others around the table looked around confused, no one seemed to know where they were or what exactly had happened.

Angelique let go of Barnabas for a minute, as Quentin walked towards the table, still looking a little off balance. Maggie heard his shuffling first and turned her head so she could see the source of the noise. Gasping she popped out of her chair, "Quentin!"

She held her hands up as if shielding herself, Quentin realized that she must still remember the ghost… which didn't seem to make much sense, yet what did? Time held many mysteries, and it seemed to want to keep them. His expression turned pained as Maggie continued cringing, "Stay away from me!"

"Please, don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." Quentin said, distressed by her fear. As he reached the end of the table, he stumbled a bit and held on to the nearest chair for support. He knew what he'd done to all of them and felt terrible about it. No matter what his motives, he always seemed to hurt people.

Angelique interjected for Quentin, "Don't be alarmed, he isn't going to harm you. He's been a victim of a spell just as all of you have been."

"But he's the ghost!" Maggie said, still unsure.

"He's not that Quentin, Maggie. He's a descendant, his name is Quentin Collins but he's not the same one that haunted Collinwood." Angelique explained to all of them. They looked slightly appeased, but were still suspicious of the mysterious 'cousin'.

Barnabas stared at Quentin knowingly, thinking it _had_ to be the same Quentin and was backed up by Quentin's somewhat guilty look. But he pretended that they were strangers, he'd have to talk with Quentin privately… later. "Are you OK… Mr. Collins?"

"Yes, yes. I'm just a little weak, that's all."

Angelique spoke up, "I think we should all go now, I can explain it all to you guys on the way into town… much time has passed, more than you know, I'm afraid."

LaCroix stared down Quentin. He didn't buy what that other woman had said, not for a minute. He knew too much about Quentin and about the supernatural to buy it. He was hiding it well, but Quentin still looked a bit guilty about _something_.

Angelique ushered everyone out of the room and LaCroix deliberately held back so that he and Quentin would be the last to leave. LaCroix caught Quentin by the shirtsleeve as he began to leave and told him seriously, "I don't buy it for a minute, there's no way you're just a descendant."

Quentin looked at him for a moment as he thought about what he should say. He thought about lying, but decided that it would have been pointless. Nick already knew _some_ of the truth and he was bound to tell LaCroix. Besides, he knew what Nick and LaCroix were and he didn't think they would take the risk of allowing their secret to be told.

"You're right, of course. But I am no danger to you LaCroix. We're taking all of you to town now, and we'll meet Nick there… he'll be able to explain a lot to this to you. Please… don't say anything about this to anyone else."

LaCroix looked Quentin over suspiciously, "Alright, your secret is safe… for now. But you _are_ the same Quentin I met in 1897, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

LaCroix was taken aback by Quentin's honesty, and was intrigued by him. The man before him must have quite a story to tell.

"We must site down and… talk. Soon. You have my curiosity positively peaked."

Quentin smirked, a vampire that was interested in his story. For some reason it struck him as funny.

"We'll do that. Now I think we better catch up to everyone else before they miss us."

~*~

1987

Beth had cried until she could cry no more. Judith had tried to console her but soon realized that Beth had been inconsolable. Beth sat in her room now, feeling depressed and utterly alone.

'What had happened?' she thought to herself, hopelessly. Someone had definitely murdered Quentin, but who? And most importantly… why? Was it possible that someone else had found out Quentin's secret, and was so cruel and unfeeling that they had killed him?

She had a feeling that Edward had something to do with it. His actions had been far to suspicious, trying to get rid of her all day. But was Edward really capable of murder? She hadn't thought so before… but now she wasn't too sure.

~

Judith was standing over Quentin's body. She couldn't believe it, such a horrible end for her little brother… and just when he seemed to be changing for the better.

After everything, she couldn't deny the fact that she still cared for him. He was, after all, her brother.

An envelope on Quentin's desk caught Judith's attention, after picking it up she saw it was addressed to Beth, from Quentin.

~

Knocking on the door softly Judith heard Beth ask her to come in.

"Beth… I found this in Quentin's room. It's addressed to you… it's from Quentin." Judith said softly, handing her the letter.

Tentatively, Beth took the letter and watched Judith leave the room.

Beth sat there staring at the envelope for what seemed like hours. Her name seemed to call to her silently, scrawled in Quentin's distinctive handwriting.

Slowly she opened the envelope and removed the letter from Quentin.

Dearest Beth,  
I haven't much time left, my love. I had hoped that I could escape my fate, that we could leave this cursed house forever and live a happy life together. Take Lenore with us and become a real family. I fear that day will never come now.

As I write this two men are plotting my destruction. Edward and Trask have found out the truth about me, and my curse. They have locked and sealed off my door so I am unable to get out. I know Edward, he will not allow a scandal and I know Trask enough to know he is fully capable of murder.

I'm hoping by some miracle you receive this letter, and know that I did not run away. I did not leave you. Beth, I know that I didn't show it. I know that I didn't treat you the way I should have… but know that I loved you with all my heart. I'm just sorry it took me so long to realize it.

Please look after my daughter, Lenore for me. Make sure that Edward stays away from her, and lets her live a happy life. As for Jamison, try and get him to understand; I don't want him to live his life hating me, and thinking that I ran away. I love him as if he were my own son.

I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you Beth; you deserved the best. I tried to make it up to you in the end but it was too little, too late I'm afraid.

One day Beth, you will love again and this time he'll be worthy of your love and loyalty. I hope you find all the happiness that I was unable to give you.

All my love,  
Quentin

Beth fought to control the tears that threatened to break her resolve. As she finished the letter a tear ran down her face, she missed him already.

"You were worthy, Quentin. You were…" she whispered.

She didn't know how she was going to go on, but knew that she must. Quentin had been her reason for living… now he was gone. But he had given her a new reason, and she wasn't going to let him down.

Pulling herself together with renewed strength she took the letter and set off to find Judith. Edward and Trask weren't going to get away with what they'd done.

Quentin hadn't gotten away with it, and it was an accident. So they weren't going to get away with it either…

They weren't going to get away with murder.

Not if she had anything to do with it.

~*~

The Present

Nick sat dumbfounded as Julia finished the strange story that was Quentin Collins' life. "…the rest only Quentin himself can tell you."

"I had no idea that Werewolves existed. In 800 years I had never heard of a real one, never seen one. After all my years of wandering… I was sure that they were only a myth." Nick told her, shaking his head in disbelief.

Julia started to answer but a knock on the door interrupted her and she got up to answer it, praying that it would be good news. Opening the door she saw Angelique first.

"Angelique! What happened?"

"That seems to be a most popular question today." Angelique kidded, stepping inside the hotel room. I've brought some friends of yours along with me." Angelique smiled as all the missing members of the family, and friends entered the room one by one. Julia nearly fainted when she laid her eyes upon Barnabas. She had given up hope and thought him dead by now. "Barnabas!" she uttered, unable to believe her eyes.

"Julia! It's so nice to see you again!" he said as they embraced one another. Over Barnabas' shoulder she saw Quentin walk into the room, giving Julia her second shock in one minute.

"Quentin! You're OK!"

Quentin smiled at her, "I am now Julia. Thank you – for _everything_."

"But how is all this possible? I mean…"

"Julia, Petofi has finally been destroyed and I don't think he'll be coming back for a very, very long time." Angelique announced triumphantly.

"Let's hope never." Quentin added.

Julia looked over at Nick, who was embracing his vampire master, happy to see him safe and sound.

"Nick" Julia said, getting his attention. "Is Petofi's mark gone? The four leaf clover on your hand?"

Nick looked down and was surprised to find that if was indeed gone.

"Yes, it's gone." He answered in astonishment.

"I think you'll find that you're… back to normal now." Julia said, being careful not to reveal his secret to anyone in the room who might overhear.

Looking back at Barnabas she smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"I'm so happy you're back Barnabas. You've always been special to me."

"Thank you Julia, and you have always been the best friend any man could have." Julia's eyes began to water as she smiled. She had waited so long for him to notice her. "Thank you…" she whispered to him.

Looking around Julia saw that everyone was busy chatting. Angelique seemed to be the woman of the hour, being bombarded with question after question. Nick and LaCroix looked like they were catching up, and Julia suspected that Nick was informing LaCroix about some of Quentin's well kept secrets. With that thought her eyes wandered back over to Quentin, standing alone as he looked out the hotel room window at the silver moon that hung in the sky.

"Excuse me a minute, Barnabas."

Quentin was staring out the window intently, looking somber.

"You look a little lonely Quentin. Mind if I keep you company for a minute?"

Quentin stopped staring at the moon and looked at Julia for a moment, "Julia, you can keep me company anytime. Of course I don't mind, you're one of the best friends I've ever had."

Julia smiled, touched by his words. "What were you just thinking about?" she asked softly.

Quentin didn't want to tell her the truth. He didn't want to tell her that he missed Beth, prayed that she found his note, and that everything seemed too good to be true. He had an awful feeling that things weren't over, that they never would be… for him. Yet, he saw Petofi die. So why was it so hard for him to believe?

"I just wonder how easily the family will adjust to the 21st century." Quentin lied, trying to sound chipper.

Julia stared into his eyes for a moment, she knew he wasn't telling the truth but decided to let it go for now. He obviously didn't want to talk about it at the moment and was trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, you haven't had any trouble and you had a lot farther to go!" Julia joked quietly, so no one else overheard.

Quentin's eyes brightened a bit, and he laughed. "I guess you're right, Julia!"

"Aren't I always?"

Laughing Quentin nodded, "Of course, how could I forget?" As Quentin watched everyone talk excitedly to each other before him he decided that he'd let himself be happy today, and put aside his other feelings. Everyone was happy, and he hadn't seen the Collins' family happy in a long time. Perhaps that was why it was so hard for him to accept? Yes, that had to be it.

Smiling Quentin put an arm around Julia, giving her a little squeeze "Julia. For once I think that the Collins' family will finally be all right."

The End


End file.
